PILGRIMS 

OF  THE 

PLAINS 


KATE'A'APLINaTON 


PILGRIMS  OF  THE  PLAINS 


DE  YA" 


PILGRIMS  OF 
THE  PLAINS 

A  ROMANCE 

OF  THE 

SANTA  FE  TRAIL 

BY 

KATE  A.  APLINGTON 


4- 


GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS         ::         NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,     1913 
BY    F.    G.    BROWNE    <fc    CO. 


All  rights  reserved 
Copyright  in  England 


PUBLISHED,    FEBRUARY,    1913 

SECOND    EDITION,    FEBRUARY,    1913 
THIRD   EDITION,    MARCH,    1913 


THE-PLIMPTON-PRE38 

[WD-OJ 
NORWOOD'  M  AS  S'U«8-  A 


gnoroft  Library 


TO 

ELIZABETH  BUTLER  GENTRY 

I  DESCENDANT   OF 

CAVALIER  AND  FRONTIERSMAN 


THIS  STORY  OP  A   HISTORIC  OLD  TRAIL 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 

BY    THE   AUTHOR 


' 


A  PERSONAL  WORD 

THERE  are  certain  readers  who  hurry  through 
the  first  few  chapters  of  a  book,  and  turn 
impatiently  to  the  last  one  to  see  what  the 
ending  of  the  tale  may  be.  What  is  not  essential  to 
the  "story"  has  little  interest  for  them.  "Preface," 
"Introduction,"  or  "Foreword"  do  not  exist,  in  so 
far  as  they  are  concerned.  And  if  an  author  is 
inclined  to  slyly  criticize  their  little  foibles  and 
peculiarities  he  may  safely  do  so  —  in  the  "Pref- 
ace" —  and  they  will  never  find  it  out. 

That  there  are  a  few  people  of  this  sort,  we 
will  admit.  That  they  are  in  the  majority  we 
must  deny.  In  this  broad  land  there  are  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  careful  discriminating  readers  — • 
true  book-lovers  —  who  take  up  a  new  book  with 
something  of  fondness  in  their  touch.  They  note 
the  title-page,  the  illustrations,  and  then,  before 
they  take  the  plunge  into  the  story  itself,  they 
read  the  introductory  pages,  —  as  you  are  now 
reading  this  page. 

As  author  and  reader  we  have  heretofore  been  as 
strangers,  yet  I  hope  that  you  may  take  this  story 


viii  A    PERSONAL    WORD 

and  its  people  into  your  heart.  I  hope  that  you 
will  like  to  travel  the  Trail  with  them,  and,  above 
all,  that  you  may  believe  in  them,  and  in  all  the 
incidents  of  the  journey  as  true. 

To  me,  the  author,  it  seems  almost  the  truest 
story  ever  written,  and  it  is  because  of  its  truth, 
that  I  dare  to  think  it  not  unworthy  of  your 
regard. 

There  was  a  big  white  house  with  double  porches, 
with  a  spring  branch  near  by,  and  a  row  of  beehives 
and  a  locust-lane,  still  sweet  in  my  memory.  There 
were  the  uncles  and  aunts,  and  the  forty-two  cousins 
who  used  to  come  over  to  spend  the  day.  In 
Galena  there  was  a  house  whose  front  door  was  in 
the  roof.  I  know  the  Mississippi,  when  its  waters 
are  low,  and  when  they  are  in  flood.  My  eyes  have 
been  dazzled  by  the  glitter  of  its  sun-lit  waves,  and 
I  have  dreamed  of  the  beautiful  pictures  that  its 
shores  presented  to  my  eyes.  I  was  on  a  boat  that 
raced  up-stream  against  the  "Phil  Sheridan."  I 
have  seen  the  negroes  working  at  night  in  the  light 
of  the  red  torches,  and  listened  to  their  songs.  And 
once  the  man  in  the  pilot-house  let  the  young  girl 
hold  the  wheel,  oh,  yes,  for  ever  so  long,  and  he  told 
her  strange  stories  of  famous  men  whom  he  had 
known  —  Kit  Carson,  and  Benton,  and  Jim  Bridger, 
and  Colonel  Bowie. 

Yes,  I  knew  the  Newells  —  the  old  Scotch  couple. 
I  have  listened  by  the  hour  as  they  quoted  pages 


A    PERSONAL    WORD  ix 

from  Bobby  Burns's  poems,  and  sang  their  "auld 
Scotch  sangs,"  some  of  which  they  taught  to  me  — 
songs  whose  music  has  never  been  in  print. 

There  was  a  long,  long  journey  over  almost 
trackless  plains;  and  at  night  our  carriage  was  con- 
verted into  a  "Ladies'  Cabin."  And  the  face-cream 
was  eaten  up,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  the 
alkali-scorched  faces  but  bears'  grease!  Flapjacks 
so  peppered  with  dirt  they  had  to  be  smothered 
in  molasses  to  make  them  go  down,  —  there  was 
nothing  imaginary  in  them. 

The  Mexican  with  his  furtive  sidelong  glances 
came  to  share  our  campfire  one  night.  And  the 
story  of  the  climbing  of  Eagle  Mountain  has  its 
foundation  in  an  actual  occurrence.  For  years  it 
was  a  nightmare  dream  to  me,  and  even  now  I  do 
not  like  to  recall  it. 

Anna,  the  golden-haired  one,  whom  the  Mexicans 
openly  adored  as  if  she  were  one  of  the  pictured 
saints,  is  not  a  wholly  imaginary  person,  and  many 
of  the  others  are  almost  like  the  real  friends  whom 
I  have  known  and  loved,  although  there  is  no  one 
of  them  who  has  an  exact  counterpart  in  actual 
life. 

Stored  up  on  the  closet  shelves  in  the  dim  corners 
of  my  mind  were  many  fascinating  pictures,  exci- 
ting incidents,  and  interesting  characters,  such  as 
these.  One  day  I  resolved  that  I  would  take 
them  out,  and  put  them  away  in  order.  Some- 


x  A    PERSONAL    WORD 

how  it  happened  that  they  almost  made  themselves 
into  a  story. 

The  town  where  I  live,  Council  Grove,  is  the  most 
famous  spot  on  one  of  the  famous  old  trails  of  this 
country,  and  naturally,  the  story  became  a  story  of 
the  Santa  Fe  Trail.  When  I  saw  what  was  likely 
to  happen,  I  prepared  myself  for  it,  by  talking  with 
those  who  have  traveled  the  long  road  to  Santa 
F6  behind  their  ox-teams.  I  read  government  re- 
ports, delved  in  historical  collections,  and  collected 
newspaper  clippings. 

I  drew  a  big  map,  with  the  camping-places  properly 
indicated,  and  the  dates  marked  as  they  should  be. 
Upon  it  was  written  the  details  of  the  natural  scen- 
ery, and  notes  regarding  the  plants  and  animals, 
as  well  as  the  tribes  of  Indians  that  would  natu- 
rally belong  to  the  different  localities.  This  map 
hung  on  the  wall  before  me  as  I  wrote,  and  this 
served  as  the  foundation  on  which  the  story  was 
built.  I  have  had  it  constantly  before  me  for  four 
years,  and  I  have  told  the  story  over  and  over 
again  for  the  same  four  years,  so  it  is  not  strange  if 
to  me  it  seems  as  if  it  almost  might  be  true. 

I  wonder  if  it  will  seem  true  to  you!     I  hope  it 

may. 

KATE  ADELE  APUNGTON 

COUNCIL  GROVE,  KANSAS, 
November  16,  1912. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  FIRE-LIT  HEARTH 3 

II.    FOR  THE  SAVING  OF  THE  LAD 6 

III.  A  FAMILY  PARTY 18 

IV.  THE  OAK  TREE  INN 23 

V.    THE  Anna-Eve 26 

VI.    RIVER  DREAMS        36 

VII.    THE  VIOL  D'AMORE 44 

VIII.    FRAGRANCE  OF  LOCUST-BLOOM 53 

IX.    HIRAM'S  BILL  OF  SALE 61 

X.    THE  EXPLOSION,  AND  A  "BOWER-DANCE"      ...  71 

XI.    THE  GAMBLERS 80 

XII.    EACH  IN  His  OWN  WAY 87 

XIII.  PAP  BAKER'S  HOUN'  PUP 100 

XIV.  THE  EXTREMEST  EDGE  OF  CIVILIZATION      ....  109 
XV.    THE  SIGN  OF  THE  LONG  FAREWELL 129 

XVI.    AN  INDIAN-TRADE 148 

XVII.  SWEET  FIELDS  BEYOND  THE  SWELLING  FLOOD      .     .  158 

XVIII.  WHERE  FLOWERS  GROW  THICKEST 177 

XIX.    "DE  WOLF  AN'  DE  COYOTE,  DEY  NOT  WAIT'*    .     .  185 

XX.    A  DROP  TO  KEEP  OUT  THE  COLD         192 

XXI.  WHEN  KNIGHTS  RODE  OUT  IN  TOURNAMENT    .     .     .  201 

XXII.  "A  MILLION  IN  A  BUNCH" 212 

XXIII.  SQUAW-TOGGERY 223 

XXIV.  A  QUESTION  NOT  ANSWERED 238 

XXV.    "Ep  WE  KEEP  THE  NEEDLE  P'INTIN'  TRUE"      .     .  242 

XXVI.    I  MIGHT  HAVE  PROMISED 255 

XXVII.    WAIFS  OF  THE  DESERT  262 


xii       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII.    SUCH  ARE  THE  RULERS  OVER  Us 267 

XXIX.    A  FACE  I  LONG  TO  SEE 274 

XXX.  BANDITS  BY  THE  FIRE   .........  277 

XXXI.    A  SONG  OP  MYSTERY 289 

XXXII.    THE  PRICK  OF  THE  SHARP  BLADE 294 

XXXIII.  MY  RIGHTFUL  PLACE  FOREVERMORE        ....  306 

XXXIV.  USE  FOR  THE  PATCHWORK  QUILT 326 

XXXV.    STAINED  WITH  A  BLOOD  STAIN 333 

XXXVI.    A  TRUE-LOVE  Kiss .  345 

XXXVII.    THE  OWNER  OF  THE  MINE 357 

XXXVIII.    THE  BLESSING  OF  THE  CARAVAN 368 

XXXIX.    LIKE  A  RIPE  PLUM 378 

XL.    THE  SECOND-SIGHT 383 

XLL  A  CHAPEL  AMONG  THE  ASPENS  389 


Pilgrims  of  the  Plains 


Pilgrims  of  the  Plains 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  FIRE-LIT  HEARTH 

1WAS  the  last  one  in  the  procession  of  girls,  when 
we  took  our  candles  last  night  to  go  up  to  bed. 
The  procession  was  sedate  and  orderly  enough 
till  we  were  half-way  up  the  stairs;  and  then  the 
twins,  scrambling  up  in  front  of  Martha  and  Lucy, 
tried  to  blow  the  candle  out.  In  the  midst  of  the 
noisy  romping  I  slipped  away,  and  went  back  to  the 
hearth  where  the  firelight  shone  warm  and  bright; 
and  I  curled  down  on  the  rug,  drowsily  watching 
the  thin  flames  playing  around  the  half-burnt  logs. 

I  did  not  know  that  father  and  mother  were  near 
me  till  mother  drew  her  rocking-chair  up  close 
beside  me  and  laid  her  hand  on  my  head.  I  nestled 
comfortably  against  her  knee  while  she  undid  my 
hair  and  braided  it  for  the  night,  and  finished  the 
work  with  a  soft  light  kiss  in  the  middle  of  my  fore- 
head, just  as  she  used  to  do  when  I  was  a  little, 
little  girl  —  before  the  twinnies  came. 

Father,  with  his  eyes  cast  down  and  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  paced  restlessly  from  the  hearth 


4         PILGRIMS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

to  his  desk,  and  out  into  the  front  entry,  where  our 
traveling  chests  almost  blocked  the  way.  I  had 
not  been  thinking  of  the  journey  that  is  before  us, 
until  the  fire  blazed  up  and  showed  me  the  chests 
there,  all  packed,  ready  for  lifting  into  the  spring- 
wagon  when  Monday  morning  comes. 

I  cannot  get  over  the  strangeness  of  it;  that  my 
frail  brother  is  to  be  sent  so  far  away  from  home, 
with  only  me,  his  sister — Delia  Augusta  Randall  — 
as  his  nurse  and  companion;  that  we  are  to  cross 
the  wide  western  plains,  with  a  trading  caravan; 
that  we  are  to  visit  the  old  Spanish  city  of  Santa 
Fe!  I  cannot  believe  it,  though  for  the  past  three 
weeks  we  have  dreamed  and  talked  of  nothing  else, 
and  for  the  past  two  weeks  have  done  nothing  else 
but  make  preparation  for  the  journey. 

The  sweet  quiet  of  the  night  was  broken  by  a 
sudden  gusty  wind  from  the  east.  The  branches 
of  the  lilacs  whipped  sharply  against  the  panes. 
The  light  ashes  flew  circling  up  the  chimney,  like  a 
swarm  of  white  butterflies.  John,  who  has  the  front 
bedroom  now,  coughed  the  prolonged  racking  cough 
that  we  so  much  dread  to  hear,  and  I  went  in  with 
mother  to  close  the  window  and  to  tuck  the  bed- 
clothes closer  about  him.  His  arms  were  out  and 
all  uncovered,  but  he  promised  he'd  keep  them  under 
the  blankets,  if  we'd  go  to  bed,  and  go  to  sleep. 


THE    FIRE-LIT    HEARTH  5 

I  heard  the  clock  strike  two;  I  heard  the  clock 
strike  three;  I  heard  the  clock  strike  four,  and  then 
I  thought  it  time  to  get  up! 

I  went  into  mother's  room,  and  softly  kissed  her 
cheek  —  and  she  did  not  waken,  as  I  fondly  but 
selfishly  hoped  she  would  do. 

I  looked  in  where  the  girls  were.  Little  motherly 
Martha  had  taken  the  naughty  twinnies  into  bed 
with  her,  and  Lucy  lay  curled  up  asleep  in  their 
trundle-bed. 

I  partly  dressed  myself,  and  went  out  of  doors* 
along  by  the  spring  branch,  up  through  the  orchard* 
and  back  again  down  the  lane;  —  and  the  locust  blos- 
soms dropped  a  sweet  cold  dew  on  my  face  and  hair. 

I  was  glad  to  creep  back  into  my  warm  bed!  I 
brought  my  Journal  with  me;  and  here  I  am,  propped 
up  with  the  bolster  and  pillows,  writing  when  I 
ought  to  be  down-stairs  this  minute  helping  with 
the  breakfast. 

I  can  smell  the  coffee,  and  hear  the  rattle  of  the 
dishes  as  Margaret  sets  the  table.  All  the  girls  are 
busy  but  lazy  Deya.  Oh,  oh!  I  thought  I  wouldn't 
be  left  very  long  to  indulge  myself  after  this  fash- 
ion! It  is  Mary-Belle  who  is  calling,  —  "Dee-ya  I 
Dee-ya!  Breakfast's  waitin'!" 


CHAPTER  II 
FOR   THE  SAVING  OF  THE  LAD 

I  HA VE  two  or  three  idle  hours  before  me :  there  is 
not  a  thing  to  do,  for  the  work  was  all  done  up 
before  ever  the  girls  and  father  started  off  to 
meeting.     There  is  no  one  for  me  to  talk  to,  for 
John  and  mother  are  out  on  the  front  porch  —  he 
lying  on  the  couch  and  she  sitting  by  his  side,  watch- 
ing over  him 

I  have  been  turning  the  blank  pages  of  this  my 
new  Journal  book,  and  I  found  myself  regarding 
them  earnestly  and  intently,  as  if  I  might  in  some 
way  discern,  beneath  the  fair  white  surface,  the 
story  that  is  to  be  traced  upon  them  —  the  story  of 
the  journey  that  is  to  be. 

The  thought  of  the  future,  uncertain  as  it  is, 
makes  me  shiver  with  dread.  Yet  I  must  believe 
that  in  the  end  all  will  be  well. 

We  ought  not  to  doubt  that  this  that  has  come  to 
pass  is  a  special  Providence  in  John's  behalf,  though 
it  has  seemed  to  come  as  by  an  accident  —  just  the 
adding  of  a  postscript  to  a  letter,  written  by  Hiram 


THE    SAVING    OF    THE    LAD         7 

Hubbard  to  Deacon  Gentry.  Hiram  told  us  about 
it  when  he  came  down  from  Galena  to  talk  things 
over. 

"You  see,"  Hiram  said,  "I'm  to  go  out  with  the 
Deacon's  caravan  as  wagon-master  again  this  year, 
and  I  were  writin'  him  when  I'd  be  ready  to  make 
the  start  from  Galena,  and  after  I  put  my  name  to 
the  end  of  it  there  was  a  inch  to  spare,  and  so  I  jest 
set  down  the  news  I'd  been  hearin'  from  Dixon,  — 
seein'  as  how  he  used  to  live  here.  'Bout  the 
tornado  sweepin'  through  the  county,  and  how  your 
two  boys  were  ketched  out  in  it  —  and  George 
drowned  in  the  river,  —  and  John's  health  so 
poorly  ever  sence  —  and  his  cough,  and  all.  I  had 
clean  forgot  'bout  the  Deacon  and  you  folks  bein' 
sech  great  friends  till  here  come  a  letter  from  him, 
bidding  me  to  come  down  to  try  to  persuade  you  to 
let  the  boy  go  West  with  me. 

"The  Deacon  says  it  will  be  the  savin'  of  the  lad 
if  he  can  take  him  with  him  acrost  the  plains:  and 
I  don't  see  any  reason  to  doubt  it.  Jest  like  it  was 
with  Will  Gibbs,  that  lived  over  by  Grand  Detour 
-you  remember  Will  Gibbs,  that  had  the  quick 
consumption,  as  they  called  it  —  well,  four  years 
of  teamin'  it  out  on  the  plains  has  worked  a  seemin' 
miracle,  for  him.  He's  as  stout  and  hearty  as  you 
would  wish  to  see  anybody,  —  and  what  it  done  for 


8        PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

him  it  ought  to  do  for  your  John,  sturdy  little  chap 
as  he  always  were.  I  remember,  when  him  and 
George  was  playin'  round  'mong  my  tools  in  the 
blacksmith  shop  —  burnin'  their  fingers  on  the  hot 
irons  and  sech  like  —  George  were  ten  and  John  not 
more'n  seven  I  reckon,  and  I  teached  'em  to  rastle, 
—  and  it  were  never  John  that  were  the  first  to 
holler  'Nough!' —  even  though  he  were  so  much 
the  littler.  He  were  the  pluckiest  little  feller  I  ever 
did  see;  and  I  don't  s'pose  he's  changed  sech  a 
tumble  lot  jest  along  o'  one  spell  of  sickness!  He'd 
be  one  of  that  kind  that  would  have  an  amazin' 
strong  grip  on  life,  as  I  take  it.  They  is  that 
kind,  that  will  stand  twicet  what  other  folks  does, 
before  they're  ready  to  give  up  —  and  then  they 
don't  give  up !  —  and  that  sperit  will  make  him 
pull  through,  if  he  has  only  the  half  of  half  a 
chanst!" 

As  we  talked  it  over  afterward  mother  tried  to 
smile;  and  as  for  the  rest  of  us,  it  was  as  if  the 
purpose  of  the  journey  were  already  almost  accom- 
plished; —  we  were  so  sure  that  John  would  come 
back  to  us  strong  and  well,  even  as  the  Deacon 
had  said. 

The  new  cheerfulness  in  the  home  atmosphere 
and  the  excitement  of  getting  ready  for  the  journey 


THE    SAVING    OF    THE    LAD         9 

are  having  the  best  possible  effect  on  John.  He  is 
gaining  strength  with  every  day.  All  the  forces  of 
his  life  seem  to  be  rallying  to  sustain  him  till  the 
fine  pure  air  of  the  prairies  can  begin  its  healing 
restorative  work.  Nothing  could  have  been  better 
for  John  than  to  have  Hiram  with  us.  He  stayed 
for  three  days  though  he  was,  I  know,  in  a  hurry  to 
get  back  to  Galena,  to  finish  his  preparations  there. 
Hiram  is  a  born  story-teller  and  romancer.  He 
does  not  hesitate  to  add  a  little  something  to  the 
truth,  if  it  makes  a  story  better  worth  listening  to. 
It  isn't  deception:  "he  is  too  transparent  about  it 
for  that:  it  is  like  the  license  the  poet  is  privileged 
to  take,  —  like  the  rhetorician's  figure  of  speech. 
And  then  there  is  always  a  very  visible  twinkle  in 
his  eye  that  seems  to  give  us  permission  to  do  a 
little  mental  subtraction  as  we  listen. 

He  has  a  fondness  for  big  round  numbers.  "A 
million  buffalo  in  one  bunch,  yes,  that's  what  I'm 
sayin'!  I  seen  'em,  —  yes,  and  felt  'em,  too!  The 
ground  trembled  like  they  was  a  yearthquake,  and 
the  bellerin'  and  tramplin'  of  all  them  hoofs  was 
worse'n  thunder !  And  wild  horses !  Out  there,  nigh 
Pawnee  Rock,  one  time,  we  was  mighty  nigh  run 
down  by  a  monstrous  herd  of  'em  —  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  'em,  and  not  one  less!  And  when  we 
wanted  to  ketch  a  few,  we  shot  'em!  That's  the 


10       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

way  they  does  it  out  there  —  nicks  'em  acrost  the 
neck  bone,  deep  enough  to  stun  'em  but  not  to  kill 
'em.  It's  a  sight  to  see  them  wild  things  '  broken  in' 
—  the  way  they  fights  for  their  liberty !  They  have 
to  mighty  nigh  kill  'em  before  ever  they  gives  up!" 

Hiram  thinks  there  is  no  place  like  Westport 
(where  Deacon  Gentry  has  his  store).  "It's  right 
on  the  edge  of  civilization,  as  one  might  say.  They 
ain't  nothin'  else  beyond  it.  They  ain't  even  a 
name  for  none  of  that  country  till  you  come  plum 
to  Mexico.  But  Westport  is  a  thrivin'  smart  town 
and  likely  to  keep  on  a  growin',  as  I  figger  it.  The 
Deacon's  firm,  Gentry  and  Newell,  is  doin'  a  power- 
ful big  business  —  a  makin'  money,  hand  over  fist. 
I  reckon  the  Deacon  must  have  turned  over  nigh  to 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  sence  he  went  there  to  West- 
port,  —  four  years,  come  next  Christmas. 

"Some  of  them  fellers  from  Kentucky  and  the 
South  talk  'bout  the  Deacon  bein'  a  '  master  hand  at 
a  bargain,'  and  it's  a  fact  that  he  does  squiz  a  dollar 
pretty  tight;  but  with  his  friends  he's  as  free  handed 
as  they  make  'em.  He  made  no  bones  o'  givin'  me 
a  hundred  a  month  last  season  when  I  was  wagon- 
master  with  the  caravan,  and  this  time  he's  promised 
to  raise  me  to  a  hundred  and  ten.  And  that'll  be 
for  the  full  year.  William  Newell,  that  runs  the 
branch  house  out  to  Santa  Fe,  is  comin'  home  and 


THE    SAVING    OF    THE    LAD        11 

I'm  to  stay  there  and  take  his  place,  to  see  that  the 
raskilly  Mexes  don't  steal  the  Company  blind! 

"I'm  thinkin'  I'll  make  a  good  spec  this  year,  for 
the  Deacon  is  goin'  to  advance  me  my  wages  and 
invest  it  in  trade,  and  that,  with  what  I  saved  from 
last  year,  will  make  a  right  tidy  sum. 

"Deacon  Gentry  mostly  calculates  that  he'll 
double  or  maybe  thribble  whatever  he  puts  into  his 
goods.  Calico,  what  brings  two  dollars  a  yard  in 
Santa  Fe,  only  costs  twenty-five  cents  in  St.  Louis, 
and  it's  the  same  way  with  silks  and  cutlery-stuff 
and  fine  liquors.  The  profits  is  enormous,  that's 
what  they  be!  Course  one  has  to  reckon  out 
impost-duties  —  and  they  is  scandalous  high  — 
and  all  the  ordinary  expenses,  not  forgettin'  acci- 
dents, which  they  is  sure  to  be  a  plenty  of;  but, 
takin'  it  all-in-all,  the  profits  is  'nough  to  satisfy 
any  ordinary  reasonable  man." 

Hiram  hesitated,  and  cleared  his  throat,  and  in 
his  most  persuasive  and  engaging  way  went  on. 

"You  see,  Square,  I  know  'bout  that  there  money 
you  got  from  the  sale  of  your  York  State  prop'ty. 
Doctor  Uttley  told  me.  I  don't  know  how  'tis  that 
a  man's  neighbors  gets  to  know  so  much  'bout  a 
man's  private  bus'ness,  but  so  'tis!  Well,  him  and 
me  were  kinder  talkin'  that  it  mightn't  be  such  a 
bad  plan  for  you  to  resk  some  of  it  in  goods  for  the 


12       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Santa  Fe  trade,  same's  the  Deacon's  a-doin'.  It's 
a  pretty  good  time  for  a  man  to  ontie  the  strings 
of  his  money-bags  when  he's  got  the  chanst  to  double 
his  capital,  and  all  within  six  months!  Now  don't 
it  look  so?" 

The  gold  was  indeed  lying  untouched  in  the 
bottom  drawer  of  the  desk,  —  in  the  bags  just  as  it 
came  from  York  State.  The  days  have  been  too 
full  of  trouble  for  father  to  care  about  it  or  think 
of  ways  of  investing  it.  But  now  he  is  feeling 
differently  and  he  thanked  Hiram  for  reminding 
him  of  this  opportunity. 

John  took  up  with  the  idea  at  once  and  com- 
menced to  figure  on  the  possible,  and  impossible, 
profits;  and  he  seemed  to  take  so  much  interest  in 
the  business  that  father  wrote  to  Deacon  Gentry  at 
once  that  he  should  furnish  a  good  outfit  —  wagons, 
teams,  and  goods  —  to  the  extent  of  ten  thousand 

dollars'  worth,  and  have  them   ready   against  the 

% 

time  that  the  caravan  should  start  for  Santa  Fe. 

It  was  not  then  fully  decided  that  I  should  go 
with  John;  so,  in  the  letter,  there  was  nothing  said 
about  me.  Anna,  Hiram's  wife,  has  let  Mr.  Hiram 
know  that  she  does  not  intend  to  be  left  behind  in 
Galena,  while  he  is  spending  the  winter  in  Santa  Fe. 
"She  jest  put  down  her  foot  that  she  was  goin'  with 
me  this  trip,  whether  or  no!  And  I  ain't  reelly 


THE    SAVING    OF    THE    LAD       13 

objectin',  only  jest  'nough  to  keep  her  on  the  tenter- 
hooks a  bit.  She's  that  mild  it's  right  divertin'  to 
see  her  when  she's  a  mite  stirred  up!" 

It  is  a  little  unusual  for  women  to  go  with  the  cara- 
vans, and  I  know  Hiram  was  thinking  of  Anna's  com- 
fort and  pleasure  when  he  tried  to  persuade  mother 
that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  me  to  go  with  John. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Randall,"  Hiram  said,  "two 
women-folks  can  go  anywhere  together  and  be 
happy  and  contented,  and  Anna  and  Miss  Deya 
would  get  along  powerful  well  together.  And 
havin'  his  sister  'long  with  him  it  would  be  more 
comfortable  and  homelike  for  John.  As  far  as 
hardships  is  concerned,  them  that's  lived  here  in 
Illinoys  for  the  last  five  year  ain't  got  no  call  to  be 
af eared  of  what's  likely  to  happen  out  on  the  plains. 
We,  all  on  us,  knows  a  thing  or  two  'bout  Injins  and 
varmints  and  storms  and  sech  as  that.  The  Trail 
from  Independence  to  Santa  Fe's  as  safe  as  the  road 
from  here  to  Pe-o-ry.  Troops  patrols  it  regler,  and 
the  Injins  ain't  no  more  obstreperous  there  than  they 
is  'round  here.  I  tell  you,  last  season  we  only  seen 
Injins  twicet — and  they  was  the  beggin'  kind,  and 
not  in  any  way  what  you  could  call  hos-tile. 

"Miss  Deya  would  like  it  first-rate,  I  bet!  We'd 
ketch  a  wild  pony  for  her  to  ride;  and  she'd  find 
the  prairies  jest  covered  with  the  purtiest  kind  of 


14       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

posies;  and  down  to  Santa  Fe  they'd  be  fandangoes 
and  sech-like,  and  guitars  a-playin',  and  all.  They 
ain't  no  doubt  she'd  be  right  int'rested." 

The  minute  he  spoke  I  knew  I  had  been  dyin' 
to  go,  —  only  I  had  not  thought  it  possible.  Up  to 
this  time  mother  had  not  been  at  all  reconciled  to 
the  thought  of  parting  with  John  —  each  day  as  it 
passed  made  it  seem  only  more  and  more  hard  — 
but  now  she  yielded,  all  at  once.  Though  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  she  breathed  a  sigh,  as  of  relief, 
"Yes,  if  Deya  goes  -  "  and  that  was  the  way  she 
gave  her  consent. 

This  was  two  weeks  ago,  and  since  that  time  we 
have  been  busy  as  bees,  getting  ready.  It  is  fortu- 
nate that  mother  is  always  forehanded  with  her 
spinning  and  weaving.  She'd  think  herself  thrift- 
less and  slack  if  she  did  not  always  have  on  hand 
enough  of  linens  and  linseys  and  jaconets  and  jeans 
for  several  seasons'  wearing.  The  big  closet  shelves 
were  full  and  all  we  had  to  do  was  choose  and  take 
what  was  needed. 

"Many  hands  make  light  work,"  and  where  there 
are  five  girls  in  a  family  a  little  stint  of  sewing  is 
soon  done.  Uncle  Asaph  said  we  chattered  "like 
a  passel  of  blackbirds,"  and  I  know  we  never  stopped 
to  punctuate  our  sentences  except  as  we  stopped  to 
put  a  knot  in  our  thread,  or  to  thread  our  needles. 


THE    SAVING    OF    THE    LAD        15 

When  it  came  time  to  pack  our  boxes  everybody 
wanted  to  help,  and  they  all  had  suggestions  to 
make.  I  really  tried  to  follow  Uncle  Asaph's  ad- 
vice —  not  to  put  in  any  foolish  finery  and  fal-lals, 
-  but  Lucy  kept  insisting  that  I  ought  to  take  my 
best  clothes,  and  though  I  said  no  to  that,  she  did 
manage  to  slip  in  two  of  my  second-best  gowns,  and 
the  red  morocco  slippers,  and  the  red  plaid  silk  that 
father  bought  for  me  in  Washington,  when  he  and 
George  and  I  went  back  there  to  see  President 
Harrison  inaugurated. 

I  told  Lucy  it  was  ridiculous  to  think  of  taking  a 
gown  like  that  out  on  the  plains. 

"'Tisn't  for  the  plains!  It's  for  Santa  Fe.  You 
are  going  to  Santa  Fe,  aren't  you?  And  didn't 
you  hear  what  Hiram  said  about  the  fandangoes 
and  parties  they'll  be  having?  The  Deacon  being 
so  well  thought  of,  you  will  have  invitations  rof 
course,  and  you  wouldn't  want  to  go  in  your 
old  delaine  and  scandalize  your  friends  and  f am-i-lee, 
I  hope!" 

When  Lucy  makes  up  her  mind,  it's  the  easiest 
way  just  to  let  her  have  her  way!  She  had  packed 
the  silk  gown,  with  the  mitts  and  undersleeves  and 
all,  in  the  very  bottom  of  the  chest,  under  the 
bottom  tray,  so  it  should  not  get  crumpled  and 
crushed,  and  I  did  not  take  it  out.  Maybe  I  will 


16       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

be  glad  to  have  it  with  me.     Maybe  I  will  have 
occasion  to  wear  it. 

This  foolish  talk  about  clothes!  —  but  it  is  only 
that  I  have  nothing  else  to  do.  I  am  trifling  away 
the  time  till  the  folks  come  home,  and  trying  not  to 
think  of  the  weary  miles,  the  weary  hours,  that  lie 
between  the  present  and  the  time  of  our  home- 
coming. Just  at  this  moment  I  feel  a  strange  sink- 
ing of  the  heart.  The  house  is  so  still  —  so  lonely. 
I  am  sitting  at  father's  desk 

Last  night  I  was  sitting  beside  father  on  the  settle^ 
and  he  told  me  that  there  was  something  in  the  way 
of  business  that  mother  thought  I  ought  to  know. 

"I  have  been  thinking  that  as  John  has  shown  such 
an  interest  in  this  trading  venture  to  Santa  Fe,  that 
I  ought  to  have  the  purchase  made  in  his  name. 
The  responsibility  might  be  not  a  bad  thing  for  him, 
and  it  is  only  setting  him  up  in  business  a  little 
earlier  than  I  had  thought  to  do.  And  so,  when  I 
wrote  to  the  Deacon  a  few  days  ago,  I  told  him  to 
have  the  invoices  made  out  in  the  firm  name  of 
Randall  and  Randall." 

I  was  a  little  puzzled  by  the  half  quizzical  look  upon 
father's  face,  and  by  the  tone  of  his  voice  as  he  said  the 
last  words.  He  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  me  to  speak, 
and  so  I  said,  half -doubtfully,  "You,  and  John?" 


THE    SAVING    OF    THE    LAD         17 

At  that  he  smiled  almost  gaily.  "No,  not  at  all! 
Randall  and  Randall  in  this  case  means  sister  and 
brother  —  Deya  and  John!  What  is  strange  in 
that,  my  child?  'It  is  only  just,  —  so  your  mother 
and  I  both  say.  It  is  what  I  would  have  done  for 
George  if  he  had  lived,  —  and  now  it  is  right  that 
I  should  do  this  for  you." 

It  was  almost  under  his  breath  that  he  said,  "Did 
you  think,  my  daughter,  that  we  have  not  known 
how  you  have  tried  to  fill  George's  place  in  the 
home?  —  how  many  of  his  duties  you  have  taken 
upon  yourself?  And  now  there  are  new  responsi- 
bilities that  must  be  laid  upon  you,  responsibilities 
too  heavy  for  your  young  shoulders  —  only  there 
is  no  one  else " 

"John's  health  and  comfort  will  depend,  largely, 
upon  you.  You  must  be  a  brother  as  well  as  a 
sister  to  him.  You  must  prove  yourself  manly  as 
well  as  womanly  ^  You  must  take  George's  place, 
—  and  your  own,  besides!" 

Praise  does  not  make  one  proud.  Praise  is 
chastening  —  when  one  knows  so  well  how  difficult 
it  is  going  to  be  to  deserve  it. 

It  was  a  very  sober  and  a  very  humble  Deya  who 
knelt  by  her  bedside  last  night. 


CHAPTER  III 
A  FAMILY  PARTY 

THE  roads  are  not  so  bad,  and  John  has  stood 
the  trip,  thus  far,  better  than  we  had 
dared  to  hope! 

To-night  while  father  was  staking  out  the  horses, 
I  tied  the  buffalo  robes  to  some  bushes  that  were 
close  by  the  fire,  and  so  made  a  cozy  little  sheltered 
nook;  and  father  and  John  are  sitting  there  talking 
comfortably  together,  while  I  am  trying  to  carry 
out  my  resolution  to  write  a  little  every  day  in  my 
book.  I  dare  say  I  will  keep  this  Journal  in  a 
scatter-brain,  haphazard  sort  of  fashion.  Martha 
hinted  as  much!  I  always  like  to  begin  a  diary, 
but  there  are  always  so  many  things  happening  to  * 
make  one  forget,  or  put  off  writing  till  a  more  con- 
venient time.  And  when  I  look  at  a  dozen  or  more 
blank  dates  I  get  discouraged  and  stop.  But  this 
time  I  have  promised  myself  seriously  that  I  will 
write  down  everything  of  importance  that  happens 
on  this  journey  —  perhaps  not  just  at  the  minute, 
but  anyway  before  I  have  a  chance  to  disremember 


A    FAMILY    PARTY  19 

it!  When  we  get  out  on  the  prairie  there  will  be 
many  tedious  hours  when  I  will  be  glad  to  have  this 
to  'turn  to  for  occupation.  I  know  how  it  will  be. 
The  men-folks  will  be  off,  enjoying  the  pleasures 
of  the  chase  —  hunting  deer  and  buffalo  —  and 
while  they  are  galloping  across  valleys  and  out  of 
sight  over  the  hills,  Anna  and  I  will  be  obliged  to 
sit  quietly  in  our  neat  traveling  carriage,  with  our 
hands  primly  folded  in  our  laps  —  perhaps! 

Before  I  forget  it  I  ought  to  tell  of  our  last  after- 
noon at  home  —  only  yesterday  afternoon,  and  it 
seems  a  week  ago.  The  day  was  not  at  all  as  we 
had  hoped  it  would  be  —  a  long  quiet  restful  day  — 
a  time  for  saying  those  last  loving  words  that  mean 
so  much  at  parting;  but  perhaps  it  was  best  as  it 
was.  In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  kinfolks 
began  to  "drop  in,"  and  by  four  o'clock  the  yard 
and  porches  and  house  were  "putty  well  crowded- 
up,"  as  Uncle  Asaph  said.  There  were  uncles  and 
aunts  and  cousins  and  cousins-in-law  —  father's 
folks  and  mother's  folks  —  Randalls  and  Warners 
and  Demings  and  Smiths  —  forty-six  of  them,  all 
told.  Mary -Belle  counted  them  when  she  set  the 
plates  around  for  supper. 

Mother  would  have  the  cloth  spread  out  on  the 
grass  in  the  front-yard,  so  there  would  be  no  neces- 


20       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

sity  for  anyone  to  have  to  wait  for  the  second 
table. 

"I  never  can  enjoy  my  food  properly,"  mother 
says,  "if  the  children  have  to  wait  —  poor  little 
things,  all  of  them  wondering  if  there's  going  to  be 
cake  and  chicken  left  for  them,  after  we  grown-ups 
are  through  eating!" 

When  Aunt  Sarah  and  Aunt  Augusta  and  Aunt 
Electa  began  to  unpack  their  baskets,  there  was 
little  doubt  in  anyone's  mind  that  there  would  be 
enough  of  everything  to  "go  round,"  but  we  all  ate 
together  just  the  same. 

The  chests  that  we  thought  were  all  ready  for 
lifting  into  the  wagon,  had  to  be  opened  and  re- 
packed, for  everyone  brought  something  in  the  way 
of  a  gift,  for  John  or  for  me,  —  books  and  wristers 
and  a  wammus  for  John,  and  a  big,  horrid,  sharp 
"skinning  knife"  that  he  liked  better  than  anything 
else.  And  there  was  a  "kiss-me-quick"  for  me, 
and  a  reticule  and  porte-monnaie,  and  another  diary 
book  and  the  loveliest  toilet-box  that  cousin  Lottie 
made  —  the  outside  all  covered  with  tiny  sea-shells, 
and  fitted  on  the  inside  with  a  mirror  set  in  the  lid, 
and  there  were  divisions  in  the  box  for  comb  and 
brushes,  and  for  the  two  jars  of  "face-cream" 
(which  was  Aunt  Hattie  B's  gift)  —  made  from  the 
famous  "Nellie  Custis  recipe." 


AFAMILYPARTY  21 

"You  will  need  it,"  Aunt  Hattie  B.  said,  "when 
you  get  out  on  the  prairie,  to  keep  your  face  from 
freckling  and  blistering,  for  the  sun  and  wind  out 
there  must  be  awful." 

Uncle  Jabez  laughed. 

"It  will  take  more  of  that  stuff  than  she's  got  to 
keep  her  face  delicate  and  fair  as  you'd  like  to  have 
it.  She's  none  so  white  now,  Deya  ain't,  and  by 
the  time  she  comes  back  after  crossing  that  desert 
country  twice,  there  ain't  no  telling  what  she'll 
look  like  —  a  copper  colored  Indian,  probably!" 

It  did  not  seem  at  all  like  the  Sabbath!  The 
children  forgot  that  it  was  not  an  ordinary  week- 
day picnic  gathering,  and  they  played  "Chase  the 
Squirrel"  and  all  their  games,  and  no  one  cared  to 
remind  them  that  it  was  the  first  day  of  the  week. 

And,  for  the  rest  of  us,  the  hours  were  given  up  to 
trivialities  and  gaiety,  and  laughter.  They  would 
have  it  so.  And  when  it  began  to  be  dusk  and  it 
was  time  to  go,  there  were  no  tearful  good-byes  to  be 
said !  They  would  only  talk  of  the  big  Thanksgiving 
feast  that  should  celebrate  our  return,  of  the  bags 
of  money  that  John  and  Deya  would  be  proudly 
showing,  of  the  romantic  stories  that  they  would  be 
telling,  —  and  they  drove  away  down  the  locust 
lane,  still  laughing  and  singing. 

So,  in  foolish  gay  fashion  we  spent  those  last 


22       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

hours,  and  it  did  make  the  parting  easier  for  us  all. 
We  were  able  to  keep  up  the  fiction  of  cheerfulness 
after  they  were  gone  —  and  when  we  said  Good- 
night —  and  that  was  hard 

It  was  not  yet  daylight  when  father  took  his  place 
on  the  front  seat  of  the  spring  wagon,  —  and  John 
and  I  waved  Good-bye  to  mother  and  the  girls. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  OAK   TREE  INN 

THE  wagon  is  drawn  up  under  the  friendly 
shelter  of  a  wide-branched  oak  tree;  at 
our  feet  a  clear  stream  bubbles  up  out  of 
the  rocks :  a  high  bank  rises  in  the  north  to  shut  out 
the  cold  winds  from  the  little  grassy  hollow. 

We  are  not  the  only  travelers  who  have  rested 
and  refreshed  themselves  at  this  woodland  caravan- 
sery.  Careless  and  cruel  guests  some  of  them  have 
been,  for  the  gnarly  and  twisted  trunk  of  the  old 
tree  is  blackened  with  smoke,  and  charred  to  its  very 
heart  by  the  flames  of  their  campfires.  Yet  the 
tree  goes  on  living  —  lifting  its  head  to  the  blue  of 
heaven  —  stretching  out  its  protecting  arms  over 
the  earth  —  bravely  trying  to  fulfil  its  natural  des- 
tiny as  best  it  may,  in  spite  of  the  fires  that  have 
burnt  into  the  heart. 

It  hasn't  stopped  raining  for  a  minute  all  day 
long.  When  I  woke  up  at  daylight  it  was  pouring 
down  hard,  so  I  thought  I  never  would  be  able  to 
get  breakfast,  but  father  got  a  little  fire  started  —  a 
smoky,  soggy,  sulky  fire  —  and  I  fixed  the  coffee 


24       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

in  the  pail,  and  the  bacon  in  the  skillet,  and  John's 
broth  in  the  tin  cup,  before  ever  I  got  out  of  the 
wagon;  and  I  took  them  and  the  umbrella  and  made 
a  run  for  it!  Lucky  the  umbrella  was  a  big  one! 
Father  held  it  over  the  fire  and  over  me,  and  some- 
how the  breakfast  was  cooked.  But  the  rain  ran 
off  from  the  umbrella  ribs,  and  fell  into  the  hot  fat, 
and  it  sizzled  and  spattered  and  burned  my  wrist, 
and  the  flame  flared  up  in  my  face  —  and  my 
temper  flared  up,  too,  but  only  for  a  minute. 

Before  breakfast  was  half  over  we  decided  that  the 
rain  was  rather  good  fun  after  all  —  John,  especially, 
but  then  it  wasn't  John's  wrist  that  was  burned! 

We  had  to  sit  on  the  floor  in  the  back  part  of  the 
wagon,  as  the  wind  drove  the  rain  directly  in  our 
faces  when  we  tried  to  sit  on  the  front  seat  with 
father.  We  piled  the  robes  around  us  and  sat  there 
cozy  and  warm,  and  played  checkers,  while  the 
horses  splashed  along  through  water  and  mire,  and 
toiled  up  the  rocky  hills. 

The  checkermen  slid  all  over  the  board,  and  when 
we  went  sliding  down  a  clayey  slope  my  book  — 
this  Journal  book  —  slipped  through  under  father's 
feet,  and  he  just  caught  it  as  it  was  trying  to  leap 
overboard. 

He  wiped  the  rain-drops  from  it,  and,  looking  to 
me  for  permission,  he  read  part  of  what  I  had  written. 


THE    OAK    TREE    INN  25 

He  smiled  a  little  as  he  read  the  inscription,  "From 
Sister  Martha,"  and  said: 

"It  was  well  thought  of,  on  Martha's  part,  to 
provide  you  with  this  book,  and  I  see  you  have  made 
a  beginning.  You  will  not  keep  it  —  of  course  you 
will  not  —  as  Martha  would;  but  I  do  not  know  as 
that  is  necessary,  or  desirable.  Martha  is  a  dear 
precise  little  maid,  and  her  diary  is  something  the 
family  could  not  well  do  without,  so  particular  as 
she  is  to  set  down  every  prosaic  family  happening, 
with  its  proper  date !  But  you  will  be  seeing  strange 
and  exciting  things,  and  may  well  follow  a  different 
model  and  pattern.  I  would  not  take  the  task  too 
seriously,  —  as  if  it  were  a  duty  that  must  be  done 
with  absolute  regularity,  —  a  page  a  day,  no  more, 
no  less,  according  to  Martha's  rule! 

"Write  when  it  is  a  pleasure  to  you:  write  freely 
and  naturally,  as  if  it  were  a  letter  to  the  girls  and 
mother  —  put  in  postscripts  as  they  occur  to  you. 
So  will  you  keep  in  their  first  freshness  your  im- 
pressions of  this  very  wonderful  journey." 

The  horses  are  hitched  to  the  wagon.  We  will 
have  to  start  at  once,  and  push  the  horses  along 
smartly  if  we  expect  to  reach  Galena  before  dark. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  "ANNA-EVE" 

WE  reached  Galena  yesterday,  and  it  was 
not  yet  so  dark  but  that  we  could  see 
something  of  the  strange  old  town.  It 
is  built  on  the  face  of  a  slope  so  steep  that  the  houses 
seem  to  be  standing  one  on  the  top  of  the  other. 
Long  flights  of  steps  connect  street  with  street. 
The  roadways  are  narrow,  so  that  in  many  places 
there  is  no  room  for  wagons  to  pass. 

In  front  of  Hiram's  house  all  the  road  slid  away 
down  hill  into  somebody's  back-yard,  and  now  the 
only  entrance  there  is  to  this  house  is  from  the  upper 
street.  Hiram  turned  the  dormer  window  in  the 
roof  into  a  door;  so  we  walk  a  plank  into  the  attic, 
and  from  there  make  our  way  down  into  the  living 
rooms. 

From  the  porch  on  the  south,  we  look  almost 
straight  down  upon  the  wharf,  a  hundred  feet  below. 
All  the  business  houses  —  the  Custom  House,  the 
Post-office  and  the  stores  —  are  down  there  next  to 
the  river. 


THE    "ANNA-EVE"  27 

Galena  is  the  most  important  mining-town  of  the 
Northwest.  They  send  their  ingots  of  smelted 
lead  down  river,  and  so  to  all  parts  of  the  world. 
Hiram  says  the  men  who  work  the  lead  mines  are 
"the  toughest  lot  ever  was,"  but  I  think  he  is  just 
talking.  We  haven't  seen  anything  of  the  sort;  * 
and  we  were  down  at  the  wharf  all  last  evening,  and 
this  morning,  too,  inspecting  the  boat  that  is  to 
carry  us  down  river  —  the  "Anna-Eve"  -a  boat 
of  Hiram's  own  building. 

He  can  make  anything  that  he  sets  his  hand  to! 
He,  himself,  modestly  acknowledges  that  he  is  "a 
natural-born  tinkerer,"  but  father  declares  that  he 
is  the  finest  all-round  workman  there  is  in  this  part 
of  the  country  —  carpenter,  wagon-smith,  black- 
smith, and  now  he  has  added  boatbuilding  to  his 
other  accomplishments. 

When  he  was  down  at  our  house,  he  told  us  about 
this  boat,  and  the  extra  "fixin's  and  contraptions" 
he  was  going  to  put  in  "to  make  it  fitten  for  the 
women-folks  what  was  goin'  as  passengers,"  but  we 
did  not  expect  to  see  regular  berth-beds,  such  as  they 
have  in  steamboats,  and  glass  windows !  And  besides 
these  he  built  a  cupboard  for  Anna's  dishes,  and  a 
stone  fireplace!  "Anna  wouldn't  be  nowise  con- 
tented if  she  didn't  have  a  proper  fireplace  to  cook 
by,  and  a  cupboard  for  her  things,"  Hiram  says. 


28       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Hiram  has  evidently  been  learning  several  lessons 
from  the  thrifty  Deacon.  He  has  made  arrange- 
ments with  four  of  his  trapper-friends  —  hunters 
from  the  "North- woods"  —  to  take  them  and  their 
season's  catch  of  furs  down  to  St.  Louis;  and  he 
will  "turn  a  pretty  penny"  by  the  transaction,  for 
they  are  to  give  him  a  percentage  of  the  profits  from 
the  sale  of  their  goods  for  the  service. 

Perhaps  he  thought  we  might  not  like  these 
strangers  as  traveling  companions;  at  any  rate  he 
explained  at  some  length: 

"They  ain't  the  kind  that  will  be  a  bother. 
They'll  buy  their  own  grub,  and  '11  cook  it  them- 
selves, out  on  the  deck,  and  they'll  sleep  there;  so 
you  women-folks  won't  see  much  of  'em;  but  anyhow 
they  are  all  of  'em  first-rate  good  fellers,  —  generous- 
hearted  as  they  make  'em,  too.  I  got  a  good  right 
to  know  'em  for  I  wintered  with  'em  one  season, 
trappin'  and  huntin',  and  I  never  seen  a  whiter  lot! 
- —  and  one  of  'em  is  a  nigger,  too !  He's  white  as 
the  rest  of  'em  inside,  if  his  skin  is  black." 

Hiram  was  in  a  philosophic  mood,  for  he  went  on: 
"Tell  you,  you  find  out  what  a  feller  is  when  you're 
a-campin'  with  him  out  in  the  winter  woods  — 
'special  if  you're  deep  in  trouble  all  the  time  like 
we  was  that  time. 

"Trappin'  is  a  gamble.     Sometimes  you  hits  it, 


THE    "ANN  A -EVE"  29 

and  again  you  don't!  We  never  made  'nough  to 
pay  for  the  salt  we  et!  The  Indians  done  robbed 
our  traps  regler,  spite  of  all  we  could  do.  But  it 
wa'n't  like  that  this  season.  You  oughter  see  the 
stuff  they  brought  in!  Five  hundred  bale,  the 
finest  kind  of  skins.  It's  down  there  under  deck, 
all  we  can  well  carry  —  six  thousand  dollars'  worth 
as  I  figger  it,  —  and  I  gets  a  percent! 

"It's  a  dum  shame  that  sech  a  pile  of  money  as 
they'll  handle  '11  do  'em  no  good.  They  won't  never 
save  a  single  cent  of  it.  None  of  them  trapper  boys 
expects  to  get  out  of  St.  Louis  with  money  in  his 
pockets!  It  jest  slips  through  their  fingers  like 
water,  and  when  it's  gone,  they  turns  them  round 
about  and  gets  along  back  up-river,  to  their  huntin'- 
ground  again.  It's  plum  wicked,  not  to  say  down- 
right foolish!  I'd  be  doin'  'em  a  mercy  if  I  was  to 
drag  'em  off  to  Santa  Fe  with  us,  so's  they  couldn't 
spend  everything  they  get  on  foolishment!" 

These  friends  of  Hiram's  are  picturesque  looking 
people.  Two  of  them  are  Frenchmen,  Auguste 
and  Franchy  Boissiere;  and  always  with  them  is 
the  negro  boy,  Joe-Lu;  Rob  McLeod  is  a  Scotch- 
man, —  six  feet  four  in  height,  and  four  feet  six 
around;  or  at  least  that  is  what  Hiram  says! 

They  are  garbed  in  true  North-woods  style  — 
ir.occasins,  and  deerskin  shirts  that  hang  down 


30       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

outside  their  nether  garments,  almost  to  their 
knees.  On  their  heads  they  are  still  wearing,  though 
it  is  near  summer-time,  fine  beaver-skin  caps,  with 
broad  tails  flapping  at  the  back.  And  they  carry, 
each  one,  a  skinning-knife,  tomahawk,  whetstone, 
bullet-pouch,  powderhorn,  pipe-holder,  and  a  pair 
of  pistols  —  all  this  besides  the  long  rifle,  their  very 
special  pet  and  pride! 

Since  we  came  West  father  has  entertained  many 
strange  guests,  but  I  had  never  before  seen  real 
North-woods  trappers  decked  out  in  their  full 
hunting  regalia.  They  were  the  observed  of  all 
observers  on  the  wharf!  From  the  windows  of  the 
boat's  cabin  we  watched  them  as  they  stood  there, 
bandying  jests  with  the  crew  of  the  "Blue-Bird,"  the 
big  steamboat  that  was  anchored  near  to  the  "Anna- 
Eve."  They  shouted  to  Hiram  and  came  aboard. 
With  all  that  superfluity  of  warlike  equipment  they 
were  cowards,  every  one,  for  when  they  passed  the 
corner  of  the  cabin  and  came  face  to  face  with  Anna 
and  me,  they  wheeled  in  their  tracks,  jumped  the 
gang-plank,  and  scurried  to  cover,  as  if  they  had 
never  before  set  eyes  on  women-folks. 

This  timidity  did  not  last  long,  however.  This 
morning  they  boldly  boarded  ship  and  managed  to 
go  through  the  ordeal  of  formal  introduction.  They 
helped  us  as  we  hung  the  curtains  at  the  windows, 


THE    "ANNA-EVE"  31 

and  put  the  dishes  in  the  cupboard,  and  arranged 
John's  books  on  the  shelf  above  his  bed.  Anna  was 
making  ready  to  scrub  the  floor,  but  big  Rob  in- 
sisted that  that  duty  should  be  left  to  him.  "Dinna 
fash  yoursel'  aboot  the  scrubbin',  whatever!  Thot's 
a  mon's  work."  And  he  began  to  throw  the  water 
about  so  recklessly  that  we  retired  hastily,  not 
staying  to  argue  the  point  with  him. 

While  he  splashed  and  scrubbed  we  sat  out  at 
the  front  of  the  boat,  looking  at  the  city  nestled 
against  the  hills,  at  the  rushing  wave-roughened 
river,  at  the  men  who  were  loading  the  "Blue- 
Bird"  with  stacks  of  lead  bars. 

They  kept  piling  the  heavy  bars  higher  and  higher 
and  we  were  sure  they  were  overloading  the  boat, 
for  the  water  was  even  then  almost  awash  her  lower 
deck.  Then  we  heard  Franchy  speaking  excitedly. 

"Sure  dat  Cap'n  be  a  fool  to  load  'er  down  lak 
dat!  Catch  a  snag  an*  down  she  go  lak  a  shot! 
Me,  —  I  not  fool  'nough  to  go  wid  no  such  fool 
Cap'n!  Dis  'Anna-Eve'  she  good  'nough  boat  for 
me!  Planty  queeck,  planty  safe!  She  float  lak  a 
duck,  —  make  dat  St.  Louis  levee  in  a  week,  or  may 
be  in  tree  four  days,  if  we  be  mind  to  run  'er  at 
night!  Dis  full  of  de  moon,  jus'  same  lak  day,  so 
we  no  need  to  tie  up  to  shore,  not  less  we  want  to. 
Yaas,  four  day,  anyhow,  we  make  St.  Louis!  Dat  ol* 


32       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Mississip',  she  be  up  a-boomin',  you  bet!  De  current 
dat  swif  an*  strong,  carry  us  down  stream  lak  we 
'ave  de  steam  engine!  Planty  queeck,  yaas!" 

Father  is  helping  Hiram  put  in  the  last  finishing 
touches  to  the  rudder.  Father  used  to  have  two 
schooners  that  carried  the  slate  from  his  quarries 
on  Seneca  Lake  across  to  Buffalo,  so  he  knows  what 
a  boat  should  be,  and  he  thinks  the  "Anna-Eve"  a 
very  superior  vessel,  built  on  good  lines,  and  stanch 
and  strong.  It  is  so  convenient  and  comfortable 
it  is  a  pity  we  cannot  make  all  of  the  river  journey 
on  her,  without  changing.  That  is,  of  course,  im- 
possible, as  having  no  engines  she  can  only  go 
down  river  with  the  current.  From  St.  Louis  up 
the  Missouri  to  Independence,  we  will  have  to  take 
passage  on  one  of  the  regular  packet-boats. 

The  "Anna-Eve"  will  be  disposed  of  in  St.  Louis. 

"They's  always  buyers  for  a  boat  like  her,  and  I 
do  'low  that  I'll  put  a  good  five  hunderd  dollars  in 
my  jeans  from  the  sale  of  her  —  and  maybe  more'n 
that!" 

Hiram  was  not  enlarging  on  the  truth  when  he 
said  the  miners  here  were  a  tough  lot.  To-night  a 
crowd  of  them  —  shouting  drunk,  and  mad  for  mis- 
chief—  shouldered  their  way  down  through  the 
crowd  gathered  around  the  "Blue-Bird."  The  boat 


THE    "ANNA-EVE"  33 

was  about  ready  to  put  off  from  shore,  and  the 
gang-plank  was  filled  with  people  coming  and  going. 
The  drunken  rowdies  seized  on  the  plank  and  jerked 
it  loose,  and  men  and  women  and  children  were 
thrown  into  the  stream.  The  water  was  shallow 
and  no  one  was  injured  —  except  a  certain  Mr. 
Breunner  who  suffered  from  a  broken  arm.  While 
he  was  in  the  doctor's  office  having  it  attended  to, 
what  did  the  Captain  of  the  "Blue-Bird"  do  but 
steam  away  down  river,  and  leave  him? 

This  is  the  news  that  Hiram  came  rushing  up  to 
tell  us  only  about  an  hour  ago.  We  have  something 
of  a  personal  interest  in  the  affair,  for  Hiram  has 
agreed  to  take  this  Mr.  Breunner  with  us  on  the 
"Anna-Eve,"  down  as  far  as  Alton.  He  had  hoped 
to  meet  a  friend  there  —  a  German  Baron  —  Hiram 
could  not  remember  the  foreign  name  —  but  if  he  is 
not  there  by  Sunday  or  Monday  he  will  be  too  late : 
and  there  is  not  another  passenger  steamboat  going 
down  for  a  week!  It  looked  quite  hopeless  for  Mr. 
Breunner's  plans  till  the  doctor  thought  of  the 
"Anna-Eve":  and  it  was  through  him  that  the 
arrangement  was  finally  made.  It  is  all  greatly  to 
Hiram's  liking,  though  it  hurries  us  more  than  is 
quite  convenient. 

"We'll  have  to  make  our  start  right  away  — 
before  midnight  —  so's  to  get  the  man  into  Alton 


34       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

in  time  to  see  the  one  that's  a-waitin'  for  him  there. 
That's  what  I  promised  him  I'd  do.  He's  to  give 
me  a  hunderd  dollars;  it's  that  important  to  him. 
And  that  hunderd  dollars  is  that  good  to  me  that 
I'm  goin'  to  do  it  or  bust  a  ham-string  a-tryin'! 
The  boys  say  we  can  make  it  all  right  if  we  ain't 
too  slow  gettin'  started." 

Anna  is  as  nearly  vexed  as  she  knows  how  to  be! 
No  one  could  be  kinder,  or  more  generously  disposed 
than  she.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  her  to  be  obliging  and 
helpful;  but  this  new  guest  thrust  so  unexpectedly 
upon  her  hospitality  is  no  ordinary  person,  arid  she 
fears  that  her  plain  way  of  cooking  will  not  suit  him. 

"You  know  we  haven't  the  niceties  and  conve- 
niences that  he  has  been  used  to;  and  will  you  tell 
me,  Hiram  Hubbard,  whatever  are  we  going  to  do 
about  sleeping  him,  on  that  boat?" 

She  was  looking  over  her  mother's  best  linens, 
taking  out  towels,  and  sheets  and  pillow-cases;  but 
Hiram  put  a  stop  to  that! 

"They  ain't  nothin'  nee'ded  for  him  better'n  what 
we  got  for  ourselves!  And  he  in  particular  speci- 
ified  that  he  was  to  sleep  out  o'  doors,  on  deck, 
same  as  the  rest  of  us  men;  and  you  can  go  and  put 
your  ma's  sheets  and  fixin's  right  back  where  you 
got  'em!  He's  consider 'ble  well  up  in  the  world, 
I  reckon,  but  that  ain't  sayin'  that  he'll  be  fussy 


THE    "ANNA-EVE"  35 

and  a  trouble!  The  landlord  up  to  the  Galena 
House  said  he  never  seen  anyone  more  agreeable 
and  easier  satisfied. 

"They're  all  right  int'rested  in  him  down  to  the 
ho-tel.  They  been  noticin'  the  mail  he  gets,  and 
it's  addressed  with  a  'Prof.'  before  his  name  and 
a  slue  of  letters  after  it,  's  long's  the  moral  law  — 
A.B.C.  and  I  don't  know  what  all!  I  don't  reckon 
he'll  be  a  mite  of  trouble  —  'ceptin'  as  you'll  have 
to  cook  for  one  more;  and  if  he  ain't  'greeable  to  the 
vittles  you  puts  on  the  table,  why  I'll  turn  the  boat's 
nose  in  to  shore,  and  we'll  put  him  off  to  stay!" 

But  for  all  of  Mr.  Hiram's  independent  talk,  I 
noticed  that  when  Anna's  mother  handed  him  some 
of  her  best  blankets  and  towels  he  took  them  with- 
out a  protest! 

The  boat  will  not  go  for  an  hour  yet;  but  Anna  is 
sitting  out  on  the  south  porch  with  her  shawl  and 
nubia  on,  and  her  blue  veil  on  her  arm,  waiting  for 
the  conch-shell  signal  to  sound. 

I  wish  father  were  here.  There  are  a  dozen 
messages  I  want  to  send  back  to  mother  and  Martha 
and  the  other  girls.  And  I  want  to  feel  father's 
hand  on  my  head,  —  and  hear  him  say,  "I  will  miss 
you,  my  daughter."  It  is  not  easy 


CHAPTER  VI 
RIVER  DREAMS 

IT  seems  a  week  ago  since  our  boat  slipped  from 
its  mooring  place  at  the  Galena  wharf,  but  Anna 
insists  that  it  was  only  two  days  ago  —  and  if 
that  is  true,  to-day  is  Friday! 

That  first  morning  on  board  was  a  busy  one  — 
taking  out  from  our  chests  the  things  we  will  need 
every  day,  and  finding  places  for  them.  But  since 
then,  for  John  and  me,  the  hours  have  been  passed 
in  idleness.  A  dazzling  shimmering  veil  seems  to 
have  been  dropped  between  us  and  those  last  days 
of  hurry  and  anxiety. 

The  boat  has  not  once  turned  in  to  the  bank,  nor 
have  we  spoken  to  anyone  outside  our  boat  till 
to-night,  when  we  floated  close  in  shore  to  have  a 
nearer  view  of  Burlington.  It  was  just  at  candle- 
lighting  time,  and  the  circle  of  hills  blossomed  out 
with  a  thousand  tiny  points  of  brightness,  and  in 
the  same  instant  the  river  was  all  a-twinkle  with 
their  tremulous  reflections. 

Big  Rob  lighted  a  row  of  pitch-pine  torches  out  on 
deck,  and  (as  if  that  were  a  sign  and  invitation  to  be 


RIVER    DREAMS  37 

neighborly)  a  skiff  darted  out  from  the  line  of  boats 
that  lined  the  river  bank,  and  soon  drew  up  alongside. 

The  rowers  were  of  the  better  class  of  rivermen, 
and  they  brought  us  information  that  our  boys  were 
very  glad  to  receive.  They  said  that  the  "Molly 
Pitcher"  had  just  pulled  in  from  down  river,  and  her 
Captain  had  told  them  of  a  number  of  "cut-offs" 
that  the  river  has  made,  in  the  last  few  days. 

"If  you  dare  to  take  them,  you  will  save  yourself 
many  a  long  mile,"  they  said. 

Auguste  was  quick  with  his  reply. 

"Dare?  For  w'y  we  no  dare?  We  raised  on  dis 
ol'  Mississip'.  We  know  'er,  w'en  she  in  full  flood, 
an*  w'en  she  mos'  dry,  lak  creek!  Know  'er  lak  a 
book,  an'  better'n  we  know  our  spellin'-book. 
Yaas,  you  may  believe  me  dat!  We  not  afraid  of 
any  new  channel.  Sure,  we  try  dem!  Where  you 
say?  Nauvoo?  an'  de  Half -Moon  Bend?  Yaas 
we  run  dem  cut-offs  tree  year  ago  w'en  de  river  she 
be  up.  Yaas,  dat  good  job  dat  you  tell  us.  You 
take  one  leetle  drink  fo'  de  'good-luck,'  eh?  Yaas, 
an'  de  same  to  you!" 

They  drank  together,  and  the  men  made  haste 
to  go,  for  it  was  a  long  stiff  pull  against  the  strong 
current  up  to  Burlington. 

Anna  and  I  went  out  on  deck  to  call  after  them 
a  friendly  good-bye,  and  we  saw  the  dark  blot  of  the 


38       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

little  craft  merge  itself  in  the  darker  shadows  of  the 
big  boats  along  the  shore.  Then  we  came  in  and 
fanned  the  dying  coals  to  a  bright  blaze,  and  lighted 
our  candles  and  settled  ourselves  to  our  evening's 
tasks.  I  took  out  my  book  and  brought  my  pen  to 
a  point,  while  Anna  unrolled  her  quilt-pieces.  It  is 
a  Rising-Sun  bedquilt  that  she  is  making,  and  there 
is  an  immense  amount  of  work  in  it,  —  seven 
thousand  and  eighty-six  pieces  in  it,  she  says,  all  to 
be  cut  to  pattern  and  sewed  together.  I  have  lots 
of  patience  for  lots  of  things,  but  none  at  all  for 
quilt-piecing.  Yet  this  is  as  pretty  as  such  work 
can  be.  The  whole  table,  except  the  little  corner 
reserved  for  my  book  and  ink-bottle,  is  covered  with 
the  brightest  of  calico  scraps  —  crimson,  garnet, 
rose,  scarlet,  pink,  orange,  and  yellow  —  gay  as  a 
garden  of  marigolds  and  poppies. 

Anna  is  the  dearest  girl,  and  the  loveliest,  though 
she  will  not  believe  me  when  I  tell  her  so.  She  is  so 
modest  and  self-depreciatory  it  is  downright  pro- 
voking. She  calls  her  hair  "a  red  mop,"  and  it  is 
not  red.  She  does  it  up  tight  and  smooth  as  ever 
she  can,  in  a  big  coil  around  her  head.  But  some- 
times I  rob  her  of  all  her  hairpins,  and  hide  the  net 
that  holds  the  coils  in  place,  and  unbraid  her  hair, 
and  scatter  it  all  about  her.  It  ripples  and  glows 
like  a  cloak  of  cloth-of-gold.  If  it  were  mine  a 


RIVER    DREAMS  39 

queen's  ransom  would  not  buy  it!  And  she  is  big 
and  tall  and  stately  as  one  of  Ossian's  Celtic 
princesses-  "Moina  of  the  Fair-Locks"  —  too  fine 
and  too  lovely  to  be  just  Hiram's  wife! 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  that.  Hiram  is 
homely  and  unlettered,  but  he  is  good-hearted, 
kind-hearted,  and  he  adores  his  wife,  and  tells  her 
so,  though  he  cannot  help  teasing  her  sometimes. 
It  is  not  so  surprising,  after  all,  that  Anna  should 
have  said  yes  to  him.  He  has  a  most  eloquently 
persuasive  manner  of  speech.  I  remember  when  we 
all  lived  back  in  York  State  he  used  to  "talk  the 
warts  off"  from  the  boy's  hands.  It  sounds  silly  to 
say  it,  but  the  warts  did  go  away,  as  Hiram  told 
them  to  do !  And  he  used  to  tell  us  with  a  perfectly 
serious  countenance  that  he  could  "whistle  the  birds 
into  his  pockets."  We  believed  him,  for  he  showed  us 
the  birds  to  prove  it!  I  think  he  must  have  "whis- 
tled" Anna  into  his  hand!  And  she  seems  entirely 
satisfied,  —  and  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  the  same.  v 
She  looks  perfectly  contented,  radiantly  happy,  and 
adorably  lovely  as  she  sits  here  in  the  candle- 
light, with  her  shining  head  bent  above  her  pretty 
stitchery. 

Out  on  the  deck  someone  is  playing  —  on  some 
strange  instrument  —  the  strangest  music.     Though 


40       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

it  is  not  loud  it  is  all-pervasive,  —  compelling  in  its 
accent.  My  pen  will  try  to  run  irregularly  to  its 
rhythm,  and  Anna's  needle  is  marking  time.  The 
flowing  melody  is,  at  times,  airily  tender,  pene- 
tratingly sweet;  and  again,  in  the  broken  chords 
there  is  something  that  hints  of  things  wild  and 
terrible.  Yet  the  tone  is  always  a  muted  one,  — • 
a  whispered  suggestion  rather  than  a  definite  sound. 
It  might  be  a  voice  from  another  world.  I  cannot 
tell  what  it  is  like!  The  tone  is  softer,  richer, 
sweeter,  and  smoother  than  the  tone  of  a  violin  — 
I  do  not  know  and  I  do  not  want  to  ask  about  it. 
It  is  enough  just  to  listen  —  to  listen  and  to  dream. 

John  is  sitting  up  in  his  berth  reading  "The  Last 
of  the  Mohicans"  —  one  of  Mr.  Cooper's  exciting 
tales.  Last  year  at  home  John  and  George  and  I 
read  "The  Deerslayer"  and  "The  Prairie,"  —  sit- 
ting out  under  the  trees,  with  the  spring  branch 
flowing  over  its  white  pebbles  at  our  feet.  The 
charm  of  the  scenes  the  novelist  describes  will  always 
be  a  part  of  our  consciousness,  as  if  we  had  with  our 
own  eyes  beheld  them.  To  me  they  are  as  real  as 
the  pictures  my  eyes  are  each  day  resting  upon;  for 
this  real  life  seems  unreal,  and  the  days  are  passing 
as  if  in  a  dream. 

I  lie  on  a  pile  of  soft  deerskins  at  the  very  edge 


RIVER    DREAMS  41 

of  the  boat,  where  I  can  lean  over,  and  touch  with 
my  finger-tips  the  cool  water  as  it  ripples  away  from 
the  rudder.  Looking  down  into  the  translucent 
brown-shadowed  depths  I  can  see  dim  shapes, 
gnome-like,  mysterious,  fascinating!  And  out  across 
the  flood  where  the  sunshine  falls,  it  is  all  a  blur  of 
scintillating  diamond-sparkles,  tossing  and  flashing, 
as  the  tiny  wave-crests  rise  and  fall.  Their  infinite 
rhythmic  recurrence  lulls  the  senses  into  quiescence. 
The  kiss  of  the  sun  upon  the  eyelids  blinds  us  so  we 
can  no  longer  distinguish  between  fact  and  fancy. 
It  is  all  too  easy  to  believe  that  the  boat  is  swinging 
idly  at  anchor,  and  that  it  is  the  shore  that  is  in 
motion, — like  a  strange  and  glorious  canvas,  unroll- 
ing itself  before  our  eyes,  a  wonderful  panorama! 

Here  is  a  rocky  cliff  like  an  ancient  castle, 
battlemented,  turreted,  richly  draped  with  clinging 
vines.  I  dwell  upon  the  picture  with  delight. 
Then  it  passes,  and  another  scene  takes  its  place. 
A  poet's  bower  —  a  green  tree-sheltered  glade, 
through  which  a  golden  foaming  streamlet  flows. 
And  here,  upon  a  high  grassy  knoll,  quite  within 
arrow-shot,  a  herd  of  deer  with  their  fawns  quietly 
grazing.  They  raise  their  heads  and  gaze  upon  us 
calmly,  showing  no  sign  of  fear,  as  if  indeed  they 
were  pictured  wild  things,  and  our  boat  were  but  a 
painted  boat. 


42       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

A  fairy  island!  Seen  through  the  gray  mist  of 
early  evening,  it  is  wraith-like,  spirit-like.  Upon 
the  level  greensward  stands  a  circle  of  tender- 
foliaged  young  elm-trees  —  slim,  elegant,  graceful, 
like  a  group  of  young  maidens,  with  arms  uplifted 
and  finger-tips  touching  to  form  a  magic  play-ring. 
Filmy  wisps  of  vapor  are  twining  in  and  out  among 
the  branches,  like  the  visible  garments  of  unseen 
woodland  sprites,  —  whose  silvery  elfin  laughter  we 
may  almost  expect  to  hear! 

The  whole  scene  is  instinct  with  conscious  joyous 
life.  Stars,  and  trees,  and  evening  mists!  They 
are  no  dead  inert  things,  they  are  alive,  —  part  of 
the  great  miracle  of  Creation:  and  who  shall  say 
they  have  not  some  conscious  joy  in  doing  God's 
bidding  —  in  following  the  laws  He  has  laid  down 
for  their  guidance. 

The  child  believes  in  fairies,  —  fairies  in  tree  and 
flower,  in  star  and  cloud.  The  poet  believes  in  such 
visions  also:  and  we  may  be  sure  that  child's  fancy 
and  poet's  vision  each  fall  far  short  of  the  real  truth, 
if  we  could  but  know  it  as  it  is. 

The  boat  is  swinging  in  its  course  around  a  rocky 
islet,  to  the  eastward.  The  newly  risen  moon  has 
spilled  her  cup  of  silver  wine  upon  the  waters,  and 
we  are  following  along  the  shining  track. 


RIVER    DREAMS  43 

On  nights  like  these,  when  the  moon  shines  bright, 
and  the  stars  try  to  rival  her  in  glory  —  when  the 
murmur  of  music  is  in  the  air,  and  the  odors  of 
Spring  come  to  us  upon  the  breeze  —  what  can 
one  do,  but  dream  of  things  glorious,  mysterious, 
unknowable? 

Only  a  moment  can  the  dreams  last.  The  thin 
ether  of  the  upper  regions  is  not  ours  to  breathe! 
The  blue  empyrean  is  not  ours  to  soar  in!  We  have 
no  wings:  our  flights  of  fancy  are  not  truly  flights 
but  mere  upspringings !  The  dear  good  common 
things  of  this  beautiful  every-day  world  pluck  at 
our  garments,  and  bring  us  back  to  earth,  —  where 
we  belong!  So  it  is  ever!  So  it  is  to-night! 

John  has  laid  his  book  aside,  and  has  drawn  his 
curtains  for  the  night.  Hiram  is  covering  down  the 
coals  in  the  fireplace  with  gray  ashes.  Someone  has 
carried  off  my  inkstand  and  sand-box,  —  and  by 
these  signs  I  know  it  is  bedtime! 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  VIOL  D'AMORE 

I  NEVER  once  thought  of  its  being  Joe-Lu  —  the 
Negro  boy  —  who  was  playing  last  night.  And 
it  was  not  a  violin  upon  which  he  played,  but  a 
strange  instrument  of  his  own  fashioning,  —  a  beau- 
tiful instrument  polished  and  inlaid  with  ivory  and 
mother-of-pearl;  —  bigger  than  a  violin,  shaped 
like  an  old-time  viol  (Tamore,  and  strung  with  seven 
strings.  I  suppose  no  one  but  Joe-Lu  could  play 
upon  it,  but  in  his  hands  it  is  a  marvel.  Auguste 
and  Franchy  think  Joe-Lu  a  "mos'  won'erful 
player,"  and  I  agree  with  them. 

"No,"  Franchy  says,  "nobody  play  lak  dat  Joe- 
Lu!  All  de  boat  on  de  river  'ave  got  de  feedle,  of 
course,  —  to  mek  merry  —  for  de  dance  —  de  game 
—  for  de  singin'  wid,  —  but  dey  not  lak  dis  feedle 
w'at  Joe-Lu  make!  I  t'ink  dat  feedle  'mos'  play 
'imself,  it  go  dat  easy  w'en  Joe-Lu  tuck  'im  under  'is 
chin!  Yaas!  You  may  believe  me!  — an'  w'en 
dat  bow  go  crash!  t'rough  dem  string,  it  lif  my 
feet  off'n  de  groun',  an'  make  my  'eart  come  up  in 


THE    VIOL    D'AMORE  45 

my  t'roat!  Ooee!  same  lak  it  was  de  'ole  orchestra, 
it  dat  strong!  Sometimes  it  fonny  an'  gay,  an' 
sometime  so  sweet,  to  mek  cry!  Ev'ybody  on  de 
river  say  dey  no  one  lak  Joe-Lu  for  de  music!  An' 
dey  been  tellin'  us,  'For  w'y  you  no  send  dat  boy 
back  to  your  France  to  mek  one  great  musician  of 
'im?  'E  show  dem  w'at  music  is!  An'  'e  mek 
'imself  rich,  an'  mek  you  rich,  too,  for  'e  your 
property,  an'  w'at  'e  make,  it  jus'  same  lak  you 
make  it  for  yourself!'  An'  Auguste  an'  me  we 
t'ink  we  do  dat  —  w'en  we  get  rich!  Dat  long 
time  off  —  eh?  Yaas! 

"Some  people  call  dat  boy  'nigger'!  Dat  mek 
me  mad!  For  w'y,  'e  mos'  same  lak  broder  to  me,  — 
'is  mammy  she  nurse  us  both  togedder  at  'er  breas', 
w'en  I  li'l  sick  boy.  I  ain't  never  shame  of  Joe-Lu, 
nor  of  mammy  Jule,  neider!  She  fines'  nigger- 
woman  in  de  worl',  —  tall  an'  straight  lak  poplar 
tree,  an'  'er  eyes  lak  coals  of  fire!  Ev'ybody  'fraid 
of  'er,  'ceptin'  only  us  chillern.  Dey  call  'er  Voodoo, 
an'  conjur!  Maybe  so!  But  she  lak  mother  to  us, 
—  rock  us  in  'er  ahms  an'  sing  always  de  same  song. 
We  not  know  w'at  dat  song  mean  —  de  words  lak 
she  sing  w'en  she  li'l  girl  —  before  de  slave  men 
steal  'er  —  Affican  words  —  but  de  music  it  soun' 
lak  love-song  —  an'  we  not  forget  dat  song  —  jus' 
lak  she  sing  it. 


46       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"She  sing  it,  dat  night  w'en  she  lay  'erself  down 
on  'er  bed  to  die:  an'  dat  night  she  tell  w'at  she 
nevair  tell  before,  'bout  Joe-Lu.  She  say  w'en  dey 
get  'er  on  dat  slave-ship,  an'  de  ship  it  come  mos'  to 
shore,  she  skin  out'n  de  li'l  window  an'  drop  'erself 
in  de  sea,  an'  swim  an'  swim,  long  time,  till  she  come 
to  swamp  —  Florida  swamp  —  an'  take  up  wid 
Injun  —  Seminole  —  w'at  be  Joe-Lu's  pappy.  Joe- 
Lu  got  no  right  to  be  slave  'tall  for  'is  pappy  was  no 
slave,  nor  'is  mammy  neider,  till  de  hunters  catch 
'er  an'  sell  'er  to  my  fader.  Den  Joe-Lu  was  born, 
an'  me  born,  too,  —  an'  she  nurse  us  both,  me  firs' 
an'  den  Joe-Lu,  mos'  lak  we  be  twins!" 

Both  Auguste  and  Franchy  love  the  boy  Joe-Lu, 
and  trust  him  fully,  but  I  cannot  conquer  a  little 
spasm  of  fear  as  I  look  upon  him.  I  seem  to  see 
something  cruel,  untamed,  and  dangerous,  beneath 
that  impassive  exterior.  I  suppose  it  is  because  I 
have  been  told  of  the  Indian  blood  that  is  in  him, 
and  the  wilder  strain  that  comes  from  his  Voodoo, 
<cconjur"  mammy. 

It  is  the  deference  that  men  pay  to  genius,  that 
accounts  for  the  way  Joe-Lu  is  treated.  He  is  never 
called  upon  to  perform  any  heavy  tasks.  He  helps 
with  the  handling  of  the  boat,  but  otherwise  his 
time  is  his  own.  It  is  not  he  who  does  the  daily 
drudgery!  Auguste  and  Rob  take  turns  with  their 


THE    VIOL    D'A  MORE  47 

simple  cookery,  and  it  is  always  big  Rob  who  keeps 
the  deck  scrubbed  and  in  order. 

The  four  men  eat  their  meals  out  on  the  forward 
deck,  sitting  on  the  planks,  in  a  circle  around  the 
"kittle"  of  meat.  They  spear  out  the  chunks  with 
their  sharp-pointed  clasp-knives,  which  they  thrust, 
in  most  reckless  fashion,  half-way  down  their  throats. 

They  "sop"  their  "johnny-cake"  in  the  "meat- 
fryin's,"  and  stuff  it  into  their  already  overfull 
mouths,  and  swallow  it  all  in  one  great  gulp!  They 
make  a  "  molasses-pudden "  of  corn-bread  stirred 
thick  in  boiling-hot  molasses.  If  they  put  in  a 
handful  of  raisins  that  makes  it  "plum-pudden"! 
Having  these  dainties  and  a  quart  cup  full  of  black 
much-boiled  coffee,  they  have  supped  like  kings  — 
and  truly  kings  might  envy  them  their  appetites! 
Rude  manners?  Yes,  but  rudeness  like  that  does 
not  necessarily  indicate  coarseness  of  nature!  They 
mean  to  be  punctiliously  polite.  They  always  doff 
their  caps,  when  Anna  and  I  speak  to  them,  and 
they  carefully  refrain  from  boisterous  talk,  if  we  are 
within  hearing. 

It  is  the  finest  compliment  to  our  German  "pro- 
fessor-man," Mr.  Ernst  Breunner,  that  they  have 
taken  him  into  their  confidence  as  they  have.  They 
do  not  seem  to  recognize  that  there  is  any  difference 
between  him  and  Himey;  which  is  as  it  should  be. 


48       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

In  their  eyes  he  is  simply  a  true  manly  man,  heartily 
interested  in  all  that  is  going  on  around  him.  He 
listens  as  they  relate  incidents  of  life  in  the  big 
woods  of  the  North,  and  in  the  French  Settlements, 
down  along  the  Mississippi;  and  in  his  turn  he  tells 
of  his  experiences  in  the  Black  Forest  of  the  Rhine, 
and  in  our  own  Catskill  Mountains  and  in  the  Huron 
lake  region. 

Two  years  ago  Mr.  Breunner  accepted  a  professor- 
ship in  Harvard  College,  and  since  that  time  he  has 
spent  all  of  his  vacation-time  out-of-doors,  studying 
the  mineral  resources  of  our  country,  and  its  fos- 
sils and  plant-life,  all  for  the  use  of  the  University  in 
Germany  where  he  used  to  be  a  student  —  the  Uni- 
versity of  Gottingen.  This  friend  of  his  —  the  Baron 
Friedrich  Ehrlich  von  Munsterberg  —  whom  he 
expects  to  meet  in  Alton,  is  one  of  the  "Professoren" 
of  Gottingen,  and  he  is  expecting  to  take  back  with 
him  to  Germany  Mr.  Breunner's  book  of  notes. 

"And  now  he  can't,"  John  told  me,  "because  of 
his  broken  arm.  There  is  a  lot  of  writing  to  be 
done  on  it  yet  —  and  he  can't  hold  a  pen !  I  told 
him  about  you,  —  that  you  are  used  to  writing  for 
father,  and  from  dictation,  and  that  you  would  be 
glad  as  anything  to  do  that  little  for  him.  Of 
course  he  says  he  doesn't  want  to  trouble  you,  but 
if  you  offer  to  do  it,  he  won't  say  no." 


THE    VIOL    D'AMORE  49 

I  was  really  pleased  that  I  could  be  of  service  to 
"  the  professor."  His  drawings  were  made,  and  it 
was  only  necessary  to  write  out  a  very  few  pages  of 
description,  and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  this.  When 
he  saw  that  I  was  interested  in  the  work,  he  showed 
me  several  of  his  beautifully  kept  note-books.  The 
sketches  of  scenery  that  were  scattered  through  the 
pages  were  exquisite  things  —  simply  drawn,  with- 
out unnecessary  lines,  but  marvelously  effective! 
They  are  somehow  suggestive  of  light,  and  atmos- 
phere, and  distance  —  like  the  etchings  done  by  the 
old  Dutch  and  French  artists,  that  I  saw  in  Mr. 
Jarvis'  collection  when  we  were  East  last  year.  It 
seemed  to  me  then  that  there  was  something  almost 
uncanny  in  it,  that  a  few  scratchy  black  lines  on 
white  paper  could  so  represent  to  our  minds  such  dif- 
ferent things, — shining  sun,  shimmering  pools,  and 
the  dark  tempestuous  moods  of  earth  and  sky.  There 
is  something  uncanny  in  it  —  there  is  genius  in  it, 
and  genius  is  uncanny,  whether  it  be  genius  of  musi- 
cian, of  poet,  or  of  artist. 

Mr.  Breunner  told  us  that  his  father,  and  all  his 
father's  people,  had  been  artists  by  profession,  for 
many  generations. 

"I  never  knew  the  time  when  I  could  not  draw. 
It  is  quite  as  easy  to  learn  to  draw  the  true  outlines 
of  what  you  see  before  you  as  it  is  to  learn  to  write, 


50       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

—  indeed,  it  should  be  much  easier.     The  drawing 
of  pictures  is  the  natural  method  of  recording  im- 
pressions:  you  see  an  object,  you  notice  its  shape, 
you  put  that  shape  upon  paper  —  what  could  be 
easier?     Writing  is  an  altogether  artificial  proceed- 
ing.    Certain  arbitrary  forms  —  letters  —  are  com- 
bined in  certain  arbitrary  sequences  to  make  the 
written  word,  which  we  learn  to  associate  with  the 
spoken    word.     A    difficult,    complicated,    artificial 
process." 

It  sounds  reasonable  as  he  explains  it,  and  it 
seems  as  if  any  one  with  eyes  ought  to  be  able  to 
put  the  shape  of  things  on  paper.  If  one  only  could 
how  it  would  save  long  pages  of  description!  I 
think  that  I  will  try  to  make  a  picture  of  the 
"Anna-Eve."  I  do  not  want  to  leave  the  pretty 
boat  without  having  something  that  looks  a  little 
bit  like  it  —  just  by  way  of  remembrance. 

John  just  called  to  me  to  come  out  on  deck,  to 
see  the  big  racers.  Two  steamboats  were  coming 
up-river  —  the  "  Elvira  "  and  the  "  Indian  Belle." 
Their  decks  were  crowded  with  excited  passengers, 

—  screaming  and  shouting  as  first  one  and  then  the 
other  boat  seemed  to  gain  some  little  advantage. 
It  is  a  notable  race,  —  best  three  trips  out  of  five 
from  St.  Louis  to  Rock  Island,  the  winner  to  have 


THE    VIOL    D'A  MORE  51 

the  right  to  wear  the  splendid  pair  of  gilded  elk- 
horns  which  the  "Elvira"  is  now  so  proudly  display- 
ing at  the  crest  of  her  pilot-house.  It  was  Auguste 
who  gave  me  these  particulars. 

"De  '  Elvira '  carry  dose  horn  for  two  season  al- 
ready, but  dis  time  she  lose  dem!  Dat  Cap'n  Orton 
of  de  *  Belle/  'e  will  snatch  de  *  Elvira'  bald-'eaded! 
'E  get  dose  horn,  dis  trip!  Smartes'  Cap'n  on  de 
river!  'E  make  de  two  out  of  de  five  already,  an'  'e'll 
make  it  t'ree!  Ooee!  See  dat  black  smoke  out  of  de 
'Belle's'  smokestack!  Dey  a-shovin'  de  rosin  an' 
pitch-pine  into  'er!  Bacon,  too,  I  wouldn't  wonder! 
Dat  make  gr-r-reat  fire!  'Ear  de  people  on  de  'Belle' 
a-cheerin'!  Look!  She  jus'  jumpin'  away  from  dat 
blue-belly  '  Elvira '  —  lak  a  deer,  w'en  a  bullet  after 
it!  No!  To  race  —  it  is  not  safe!  But  dey  not 
care,  not'in',  only  so  be  dey  win!  Dey  all  be  bettin' 
big  on  dis  race!  Yaas!  An'  cry  to  put  more  fire 
under  de  biler  —  an'  it  a  poppin'  fit  to  bust !  Dem 
fellers  w'at  is  on  de  boat,  —  if  it  blow  up,  w'ere  dey 
be?  Wat's  de  use  of  winnin'  if  de  boat  busts  up, 
an'  you  on  'er,  eh?  I  bet  on  de  'Belle,'  but  I  not  go 
on  'er,  till  de  race  is  over!  But  dere  be  planty 
fools  w'at  lak  de  fon.  Da's  all  right  for  dem,  but 
not  for  me!" 

The  big  boats  steamed  up  abreast  of  us.  The 
throb  of  the  laboring  engines  was  in  the  air.  The 


52       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

big  side- wheels  beat  the  water  into  flying  spray. 
Great  waves  rolled  shoreward,  and  the  "Anna-Eve" 
rocked  dangerously.  The  boys  in  their  interest  had 
ventured  too  near  the  racing  monsters,  and  had  for- 
gotten all  about  safety.  They  danced  up  and  down, 
and  gesticulated  and  screamed  encouragement  to  the 
crew  of  the  "Belle"  —  and  they  almost  fell  over- 
board when,  from  his  place  in  the  pilot-house,  the 
pilot  waved  them  a  greeting!  His  condescension  so 
great!  They  so  honored! 

To  any  river-man  a  pilot  is  a  creature  set  apart 
like  a  royal  personage !  —  so  independent,  so  power- 
ful, so  despotic  a  being  is  he. 

We  are  making  the  quickest  run  on  record,  for  a 
keel-boat,  so  all  the  boys  say.  It  takes  constant 
vigilance  to  keep  out  where  the  current  runs  strong- 
est, to  keep  out  of  swirling  eddies,  off  from  treacher- 
ous mud-banks,  and  free  from  floating  drift.  There 
are  four  men  at  the  oars  night  and  day,  but  they  do 
not  seem  to  mind  the  work  and  the  loss  of  sleep. 

They,  too,  are  racing  —  against  time!  They  have 
pledged  themselves  to  drop  anchor  at  the  Alton 
wharf  on  Sunday,  and  unless  there  should  some 
accident  befall  us,  they  will  be  able  to  keep  their 
pledge. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I 

THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  LOCUST-BLOOM 

LAST  night  we  were  out  on  deck  till  midnight. 
The  swift  current  was  sending  us  dancing 
down-stream!  The  boys  were  trying  a  new 
"cut-off,"  "right  cross-lots  of  somebody's  cornfield, 
I  reckon,"  Himey  said. 

The  boys  scanned  every  ripple  and  line  of  foam, 
watchful  lest  they  should  ground  on  some  ridge,  or 
strike  a  tearing  "sawyer";  and,  for  all  their  care, 
we  were  almost  "hung  up"  in  the  tangle  of  a  locust- 
thicket.  The  heavy-weighted  branches  swept  across 
the  deck,  and  we  gathered  armfuls  of  the  wave- wet 
blooms. 

I  thought  of  the  locust-lane  at  home!  I  could 
see  it  —  the  purple  dusty  double  track,  made  by 
hoofs  and  wheels,  the  fresh  green  strip  of  untrodden 
grass  in  the  middle;  and  on  either  side  of  the  road, 
the  locust  trees  with  their  drooping  sprays  of  blos- 
soms, honey-sweet!  And  then  I  remembered  that 
it  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  girls  would  be,  at 
that  very  minute,  going  down  the  lane,  on  their 


54       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

way  to  the  Saturday  night  Singing-school.  They 
would  be  breathing  the  fragrance  of  locust  flowers, 
and  looking  up  to  the  same  shining  golden  moon 
—  thinking  of  John  and  Deya,  just  as  we  were 
thinking  of  them. 

1  sat  on  the  deck,  close  to  John's  couch,  and 
I  could  feel  his  quick  breathing,  as  he  laid  his 
arm  around  my  neck.  We  were  both  thinking  of 
home. 

Joe-Lu  took  up  his  fiddle,  and  touched  the  strings 
lightly  with  his  "feedle-bow."  Music  —  from  some- 
where far  away  —  answered  to  that  touch.  It  was 
like  sleepy  nestlings  calling  to  each  other.  Then  it 
came  in  gayer  measures,  and,  finally,  through  subtle 
modulations  complicated  and  perplexing,  it  swung 
into  the  wildest,  sweetest  melody! 

This  music  is  a  mystery  to  me.  It  seems  to 
follow  no  law,  unless  it  is  a  law  of  its  own.  Its 
cadences  are  strange  and  bewildering,  its  accent 
capricious,  its  phrases  tantalizing,  unsatisfying, 
incomplete. 

How  can  one  so  rude  and  uncultured  as  this  poor 
Joe-Lu  have  the  power  to  set  the  heart  a-throbbing 
with  emotions  so  complex,  so  profound,  so  subtly 
exquisite,  so  almost  divine?  What  does  his  music 
mean  to  him? 


FRAGRANCE  OF  LOCUST-BLOOM    55 

I  could  but  watch  him  as  he  stood,  without  sup- 
port, on  the  very  edge  of  the  boat  —  a  dark  sil- 
houette against  the  silver-sparkling  water.  His 
black-bronze  face  was  as  devoid  of  expression  as  if 
it  were  of  bronze  indeed.  But  the  hand  that  held 
the  bow,  and  the  fingers  that  hovered  over  the 
strings,  were  eloquent;  and  his  whole  form  yielded 
itself  to  the  rhythm  of  the  music,  as  a  tree  is  swayed 
by  the  summer  wind. 

I  wondered  what  aspirations  were  stirring  at  his 
heart  —  what  vague  enchantments  were  dancing 
before  his  eyes! 

It  was  a  night  of  more  than  earthly  splendor. 
The  world  was  drenched  in  the  warm  moon-beams; 
and  John  and  I,  and  Anna  were  content  to  sit 
and  dream.  But  Hiram  had  no  notion  of  allow- 
ing anybody  to  indulge  in  moonlight  reveries. 
He  would  rather  make  it  a  time  of  moonlight 
revelry! 

He  and  big  Rob  were  singing,  turn  and  turn 
about,  all  the  quaint  old  songs  they  knew  — 
"Barbara  Allen"  and  "Lord  Lovel"  and  "Black- 
eyed  Susan,"  and  "I'll  hang  my  harp  on  a 
willow-tree." 

Rob  roared  out  the  verses  of  "Captain  Kidd"  — 
and  the  chilly  little  creeps  went  up  and  down  my 
spine  as  he  sang. 


56       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 


"My  parents  taught  me  well,  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
To  shun  the  gates  of  hell,  as  I  sailed. 
I  cursed  my  father  dear,  and  her  that  did  me  bear, 
And  so  wickedly  did  swear,  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
And  so  wickedly  did  swear,  as  I  sailed. 

"I'd  a  Bible  in  my  hand,  when  I  sailed,  when  I  sailed, 
But  I  sunk  it  in  the  sand  as  I  sailed. 
I  made  a  solemn  vow,  to  God  I  would  not  bow, 
Nor  myself  one  prayer  allow,  when  I  sailed,  when  I  sailed, 
Nor  myself  one  prayer  allow,  when  I  sailed. 

"I  murdered  William  Moore  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed. 
And  left  him  in  his  gore  as  I  sailed. 
And  being  cruel  still,  my  gunner  I  did  kill, 
And  much  precious  blood  did  spill,  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
And  much  precious  blood  did  spill  as  I  sailed. 

"My  name  was  Robert  Kidd  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  as  I  sailed. 
My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  God's  laws  I  did  forbid, 
And  so  wickedly  I  did,  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
And  so  wickedly  I  did,  as  I  sailed!" 


FRAGRANCE    OF   LOCUST-BLOOM  57 


Auguste  sang  in  French  —  one  of  the  popular 
songs  of  the  "voyageurs"  —  something  about  how  a 
man  changes  his  sweetheart  with  every  Springtime 

—  "Tout  les  printemps." 

"Qu'ils  changent  qui  voudront, 
Pour  moi  je  garde  la  mienne." 

Hiram's  contribution  to  the  evening's  concert  was 
the  ancient  ballad  —  the  supposedly  tragic  ballad 

—  of  "The  Brown  Girl  and  Fair  Eleanor."     This 
song  has  "been  in  Hiram's  family"  for  many  gen- 
erations, —  passed  down,  from  mother  to  daughter, 
and  from  father  to  son.     "And  I  reckon  it  wa'n't 
never  printed."     There  were  thirty-seven  verses,  as 
Hiram  sang  it,  and  he  thinks  that  he  has  forgotten 
some!    It  is  a  real  three-  volume  novel  set  to  music! 


£ 


m 


*-+ 


w    - 


m 


"  *  O  mother,  dear  mother,  come  read  my  riddle,  ere  ever  the  sun 

goes  down, 
O,  shall  I  marry  Fair  Eleanor,  or  bring  the  Brown  Girl  home? ' 

"The  Brown  Girl,  she  has  house  and  lands,  Fair  Eleanor,  she 

has  none, 

Therefore  I  advise  you  as  your  best  friend,  to  bring  the  Brown 
Girl  home.' 


58       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS] 

"He  rode  till  he  came  to  Fair  Eleanor's  hall,  to  invite  her  to 

his  wedding. 

There  was  none  so  ready  as  Fan*  Eleanor  was  to  rise  and  let 
him  in. 

"She  dressed  herself  in  scarlet  and  gold,  her  waiting-maids  in 

green, 

And  every  city  that  they  passed  through,  they  took  her  to  be 
the  queen. 

"She  rode  till  she  came  to  Lord  Thomas'  hall,  she  rapped  so 

loud  it  did  ring, 

There  was  none  so  ready  as  Lord  Thomas  was,  to  rise  and  let 
her  in. 

"He  took  her  by  her  lily-white  hand  and  led  her  across  the 

hall, 

And  he  seated  her  at  the  head  of  the  table,  among  the  gentles 
all. 

"'Lord  Thomas,'  says  she,  'is  this  your  bride?    She  is  so  very 

brown. 

And  you  might  have  had  as  fan-  a  lady,  as  ever  the  sun  shone 
on.' 

"The  Brown  Girl  had  a  little  knife,  with  a  blade  so  keen  and 

sharp, 

And  she  pierced  Fair  Eleanor  through,  and  she  pierced  Fair 
Eleanor's  heart. 

"'Fair  Eleanor,  why  do  you  sigh,  why  is  your  cheek  so  wan? 
Thou  art  my  own,  my  one  true  love,  the  fairest  the  sun  shines 
on.' 

"'Lord  Thomas/  said  she,  'it's  are  you  blind,  or  can't  you  very 

well  see? 

It  is  my  own,  my  own  heart's  blood,  a-trickling  down  to  my 
knee!' 


FRAGRANCE  OF  LOCUST-BLOOM   59 

"He  took  the  Brown  Girl  by  the  hand  and  led  her  across  the 

hall, 

And  with  a  broad  sword  cut  her  head  off,  and  flung  it  against 
the  wall. 

"Then  he  put  the  handle  against  the  wall,  the  point  against 

his  breast. 

Said  he,  'Here's  the  death  of  three  true  lovers,  a-lying  down 
to  rest. 

"'O  mother,  dear  mother,  go  dig  my  grave,  and  dig  it  both  wide 

and  deep; 

And  put  Fair  Eleanor  in  my  arms  and  the  Brown  Girl  at  my 
feet.' 

"And  out  of  her  heart  there  sprung  a  rose,  and  out  of   his 

a  brier; 

And  they  grew  and  twined  in  a  true-love  knot,  which  lovers 
always  admire." 

I  have  promised  to  write  out  all  of  the  thirty- 
seven  verses  for  Mr.  Breunner.  He  is  interested  in 
the  poem  as  a  literary  curiosity.  Many  of  these  old- 
time  ballads  are  much  older  than  the  art  of  printing. 
They  are  the  imperfectly  transmitted  fragments  of  , 
the  romance-songs,  sung  by  troubadours  and  min- 
strels, in  kings'  courts,  in  the  days  of  the  Long-ago! 
They  are  quite  as  well  worth  preserving  —  so  Mr. 
Breunner  says  —  as  the  Nibelungenlied,  or  the  old 
Norse  Sagas,  inasmuch  as  they  give  a  more  or  less 
true  picture  of  life  as  it  was  in  the  olden  times. 

This  song  of  "Fair  Eleanor  and  the  Brown  Girl" 
lends  itself  easily  to  burlesque,  and  as  Hiram  sang 


60       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

it  in  a  fine  high  falsetto,  it  was  irresistibly  funny. 
We  laughed  and  laughed,  till  the  echoes  all  laughed 
with  us. 

And  then  I  thought  I  heard  another  laugh  that 
was  not  an  echo.  It  seemed  to  come  from  some- 
where out  on  the  river,  but  I  only  heard  it  once, 
and  I  could  not  tell  for  sure.  Later  we  were  all 
singing,  "Farewell,  farewell  to  thee,  Araby's  daugh- 
ter!" when  a  flute-like  tenor  voice  —  a  stranger's 
voice,  from  somewhere  —  took  up  the  melody,  and 
sang  the  song  with  us,  measure  for  measure,  word 
for  word! 

It  was  deliciously  mysterious!  There  were  so 
many  tricksy  echoes  abroad,  we  could  not  tell  where 
the  singer  might  be;  and  he  must  have  been  right 
near  us,  on  one  of  the  little  half-submerged  islands 
left  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  For  after  we  had 
floated  a  long  ways  down-stream  we  looked  back 
and  saw  the  red  glow  of  a  campfire,  and  the  blaze 
flared  up  high  for  an  instant,  and  then  it  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  IX 
HIRAM'S  BILL  OF  SALE 

ris  not  nearly  so  easy  as  one  might  think,  to 
draw  a   picture.     I  have  been   working  on   a 
sketch  of  the  "Anna-Eve"  for  hours,  rubbing 
out  the  lines  as  fast  as  I  made  them,  —  and  now  it 
is  not  at  all  satisfactory.     I  could  only  put  down  a 
few  lines,  as  we  stood  on  the  bluff  at  Alton, — and 
I  have  had  to  finish  it  as  best  I  could  here  in  the 
house,  working  on  this  rickety  little  table,  with  only 
the  big  roses  of  the  wall-paper  to  remind  me  of  what 
the  out-of-doors  ought  to  be! 

I  wish  I  could  somehow  express  the  force  and 
might  of  the  great  river  sweeping  by,  —  the  gentle 
beauty  of  the  distant  wooded  banks,  —  the  bright- 
ness of  the  azure  sky.  It  is  not  a  picture,  as  Mr. 
Breunner's  sketches  are;  but  after  all  it  means 
something  to  me,  —  it  will  serve  to  recall  the  real 
scene,  —  it  will  keep  memory's  picture  from  fading 
out  of  my  mind. 

I  have  been  looking  back  through  the  pages  of 
this  Journal.  It  would  seem  that  I  had  bestowed 


62       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

an  immense  amount  of  time  upon  it,  but  I  haven't. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  sit  with  the  book  before 
me,  and  think  over  what  has  transpired,  while  the 
words  trip  over  themselves  in  their  hurry  to  put 
themselves  on  paper!  I  think  it  must  be  that  it  is 
because  my  ink  is  so  good  —  it  flows  so  freely  from 
the  pen. 

For  years,  ever  since  she  left  Dixon,  Cousin 
Elinor  and  I  have  kept  up  a  voluminous  corre- 
spondence. Father  has  always  been  a  little  amused 
by  it,  and  Martha  wonders  how  we  find  so  much 
to  say  to  each  other.  And  now  I  am  just  making 
believe  that  this  is  a  "to-be-continued"  letter  to 
Cousin  Elinor,  —  and  I  know  she  will  think  that 
she  will  have  to  read  it  all,  when  she  comes  down  to 
see  us  at  Thanksgiving  time.  So,  Cousin  Elinor,  I 
will  take  up  the  narrative,  where  I  left  it,  —  when 
we  were  just  above  Alton. 

We  reached  that  city  on  Sunday  afternoon,  and 
anchored  in  a  little  cove  under  Prospect  Hill.  Though 
Mr.  Breunner  was  in  haste  to  go  up  into  the  city, 
he  did  not  forget  to  bid  each  one  of  us  adieu,  in  his 
nice  polite  formal  foreign  fashion.  He  took  my 
hand  lightly  in  his  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  In  his 
gaze,  as  his  eyes  met  mine,  was  something  serious 
and  earnest,  —  something  deep  and  strange.  I  can- 


HIRAM'S    BILL    OF    SALE  63 

not  express  what  I  mean;  only  I  felt  that  we  had 
not  understood  him  as  we  should  have  done. 

Auguste  and  Franchy  and  Joe-Lu  were  born  in 
Alton,  and  lived  there  till  they  were  seven  or  eight 
years  old;  and,  as  was  natural  enough,  they  were 
anxious  to  spend  a  few  hours  there,  before  we  went 
on  down  to  St.  Louis.  Auguste  insisted  that  "de 
ladies  mus'  be  tired  of  dat  boat,  not  get  off  her  for 
four  days  —  dey  be  mighty  glad  to  set  deir  foot  on 
shore!  Yaas!  W'y  no  we  'ave  de  picnic-supper  up 
on  de  top  of  dose  bluff?  Dat  be  fine?  Eh?  " 

As  an  extra  inducement  they  offered  to  show  us  a 
"mos'  won'erful  picture  —  de  picture  of  de  'Piasa- 
Bird' —  painted  up  high  on  de  bluff!  Ev'ybody 
on  de  Mississip'  know  'bout  dat  picture,  —  so  ol' 
dat  de  ol'est  Injun  not  'ave  de  tradition  'ow  it  come 
to  be  dere  —  so  dey  say  'Thunder-God'  paint  'im 
dere!  De  Medicine-man  'e  tell  'em  dat  dat  Piasa- 
Bird  carry  off  two  Miami  warrior,"  —  Auguste  low- 
ered his  voice  to  a  tragic  whisper,  —  "yaas,  and 
eat  'em!  Dat  ve'y  picture  did  dat!  Mighty  ol' 
picture!  Pere  Marquette,  w'en  'e  firs'  come  down 
de  Mississip',  'e  see  it,  an'  say  it  mos'  won'erful! 
I  want  for  to  see  dat  Piasa-Bird  again,  myself! 
Our  fader  an'  moder  dey  live  over  on  dat  Piasa- 
street,  —  an'  Franchy  an'  Joe-Lu  an'  me  one  time 
we  t'ink  we  be  so  brave  an'  smart!  We  run  away 


64      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

an'  come  up  on  de  hill  an5  t'row  stone,  an'  shoot 
arrow  at  dat  Piasa-Bird!  I  tell  you,  for  sure,  dat 
picture  roll  'is  eyes  at  us,  an'  stick  out  'is  red  tongue! 
We  t'ink  'e  did,  anyhow,  an'  we  skeer  mos'  to 
death,  an'  skoot  for  'ome,  —  an'  be  good  for  mos'  a 
month!  Eh,  Franchy?" 

So,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  boys,  when  the  boat 
came  to  anchor  above  the  Alton  wharf,  Auguste  and 
Hiram  and  I  clambered  up  the  steep  bluff.  It  was 
with  something  like  real  awe  in  his  manner  that 
Auguste  pointed  out  the  Piasa-Bird  to  us.  In  days 
gone  by  it  must  have  seemed  a  terrible  apparition 
to  the  superstitious  savages. 

It  is  a  nondescript  creature,  with  outspread  wings, 
a  scaly  tail,  head  and  horns  of  a  goat,  a  man's  dis- 
torted face,  fiery  eyes,  and  a  mouth  dropping  gouts 
of  blood.  But  all  this  is  to  be  only  dimly  seen,  for 
its  outlines  are  blurred,  and  the  once  bright  colors 
are  faded  by  the  suns  and  rains  of  uncounted  sea- 
sons. Yet  its  colossal  size,  the  inaccessibility  of  the 
place  where  it  is  found,  the  mystery  of  its  origin, 
all  combine  to  make  it  an  impressive  object  still. 

My  imagination  played  me  no  tricks.  I  did  not 
think  it  rolled  its  age-dimmed  eyes  at  me,  but  I  was 
ready  to  "skoot"  for  the  boat,  when  Auguste  gave 
the  word.  And  Anna  and  I  made  ready  the  "picnic- 
supper,"  which  Hiram  carried  up  the  hill.  As  if  it 


HIRAM'S    BILL    OF    SALE  65 

were  only  a  foolish  bit  of  play,  Franchy  and  Joe-Lu 
made  a  "queen's  chair"  with  their  clasped  hands, 
and  they  made  John  let  them  carry  him  up  the 
steepest  part  of  the  slope. 

We  had  not  thought  of  the  irksomeness  of  our 
cramped  quarters  on  the  boat  till  we  stood  on  the 
heights,  and  felt  the  fresh  breeze  blowing,  and  looked 
out  across  the  shining  river  with  its  tree-clad  shores. 

I  had  only  just  begun  my  picture  of  the  boat 
when  Anna  called  me  to  come  to  supper.  And  we 
idled  away  the  time,  till  the  church-bells  were  ring- 
ing, when  we  went  down  into  the  city. 

Everyone  was  out  enjoying  the  beautiful  May 
evening.  Church-people  were  on  their  way  to 
evening  meeting,  and  others  were  gathered  in  festive 
groups  on  the  street-corners,  —  the  girls  dressed  in 
gayest  attire,  each  one  trying  to  outdo  the  others  in 
the  bigness  of  her  bonnet,  the  breadth  of  her  hoop- 
skirt,  and  the  quantity  of  flowers  and  jewelry  with 
which  she  was  bedecked.  Anna  and  I  were  almost 
ashamed  of  our  plain  costumes.  It  was  at  Anna's 
suggestion  that  we  turned  into  one  of  the  quieter 
streets,  but  here  we  were  jostled  by  a  crowd  of 
rough  men,  who  were  shouting  and  swearing,  and 
and  we  saw  one  of  them  turn  back  to  spit  upon  the 
pavement !  It  was  the  pavement  stained  by  the  blood 
of  Lovejoy!  In  a  hushed  voice  Auguste  told  me: 


66       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"Yaas,  dat  is  w'ere  Lovejoy  was  keel!  De  mob 
shoot  'im  down,  —  right  on  dat  ve'y  place!  'E 
publish  Abolition  paper.  'E  not  stop  for  no  one's 
say  so!  An'  de  mob  come!  I  seen  'em!  I  'eard 
de  guns  —  seen  'im  t'row  up  'is  ahms,  an'  twis' 
'isself  roun',  an'  drap  to  de  groun'!  An'  dat  hell- 
crowd  wipe  de  blood  wid  deir  'ankerchief  an'  shout, 
an'  go  way  laughin'!  I  not  Abolition,  but  I  say, 
w'atever,  dat  mos'  wicked  act!" 

I  glanced  quickly  around.  In  the  dusk,  the  whole 
dreadful  scene  seemed  to  re-enact  itself  before  my 
eyes.  I  think  Anna  felt  something  of  the  same 
terror,  for  she  seized  my  hand  and  made  me  run 
with  her  down  to  the  boat. 

Big  Rob  knew  of  this  boarding-place,  here  in  St. 
Louis,  and  he  escorted  us  as  far  as  the  front  door,  and 
beat  a  hasty  retreat.  He  was  anxious  to  be  down 
on  the  levee  with  Hiram,  and  John  would  go  too. 

Anna  and  I  spent  the  day  indoors,  —  she  busy, 
as  usual,  with  her  needle,  and  I  with  my  pen.  We 
did  not  expect  to  see  the  men  till  supper-time,  there 
was  so  much  for  them  to  do,  —  Hiram's  boat  to 
dispose  of,  tickets  to  buy  for  the  Missouri-river  trip; 
and  our  trapper  friends  would  have  to  find  a  market 
for  their  furs. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  they  came  trooping  up 


HIRAM'S    BILL    OF    SALE  67 

the  stairs,  in  the  gayest  of  spirits,  —  but  I  noticed 
that  it  was  Auguste  and  Franchy  and  Rob  who 
were  doing  all  the  talking!  Hiram  was  not  saying 
anything! 

"Sure  we  got  de  bes'  of  news!  Sold  dem  bale  of 
fur,  all  for  de  top-notch  price,  —  an'  dey  mighty 
glad  to  get  'em,  seem  lak!  Dose  silver-fox  —  dat 
w'at  take  Frangois  Chouteau's  eye!  —  an'  dem 
beaver  skin,  —  sof '  as  silk,  'e  say !  Dat  was  beeg 
pile  of  money  'e  count  out  to  us!  Too  beeg  to  trow 
away,  you  bet!  W'at  you  say,  Miss  Hubbard,  if 
we  go  in  partners  wid  dat  'usband  of  yours?  Yaas! 
Dat  'ard-fisted  ol'  miser  dere,  dat  Himey!  We  go 
in  togedder  an'  all  buy  goods  for  de  trade  wid  Santa 
Pe!  Dat  be  one  fine  scheme,  eh?  Firs'  time  we 
ever  get  out  of  St.  Louis  wid  ten  dollars!  Now 
Himey,  'e  keep  de  money  in  'is  jeans,  —  not  let  us 
look  at  it  till  we  get  miles  away  from  dis  city.  'E 
keep  it  safe,  yaas!  Only  'e  be  not  so  smart  'bout 
'is  own  business!  W'at  you  say?  We  t'ink  dat  'e 
done  give  'is  boat  away!  Yaas,  done  give  it  to  a 
stranger-man,  w'at  'e  nevair  see  before!" 

Hiram  really  looked  shame-faced  and  a  little 
anxious  as  he  explained  the  transaction. 

"There  was  a  good-natured  green-lookin'  chap 
down  by  the  wharf  thet  wanted  the  boat/  and  he 
offered  me  nine  hunderd  dollars  for  her.  Thinks  I, 


68       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

that's  a  pretty  good  profit  on  what  she  cost  me, 
countin'  my  time  and  all,  but  when  it  come  to  pay- 
in'  he  hadn't  no  money,  but  only  a  lot  of  cow-critters 
and  such  down  by  Sibley,  clost  to  Westport  and  Inde- 
pendence, on  his  brother's  farm!  I  looked  him  over 
pretty  keen,  and  I  sized  him  up  to  be  an  honest 
feller,  and  so,  says  I,  'I'll  resk  it,'  and  we  made  out 
a  good  strong  bill  of  sale."  Hiram  spread  out  the 
document  upon  the  table,  and  followed  the  words 
with  his  finger  as  he  read.  "'Forty  head  of  oxens 
and  cow-critters,  more  or  less,  being  all  the  stock  now 
owned  by  said  Ury  Dowton,  and  held  by  his  brother, 
said  Oty  Dowton,  on  his  farm  near  Sibley,  Missouri.' 

"That  feller  was  too  green-lookin'  to  be  anything 
else  than  honest.  Don't  you  think  your  Uncle 
Fuller  don't  know  an  honest  feller  when  he  sees 
him?  If  that  Ury  Dowton  turns  out  to  be  a  cheat 
and  a  rogue,  I'll  eat  the  cat! 

"The  trade  ain't  a  fair  one,  but  it  ain't  me  that's 
got  the  wust  of  it!  As  I  figgers  it,  them  cow-critters 
is  worth  full  nine  hunderd  and  half  as  much  again! 
But  it  was  him  that  made  the  offer,  and  I  wa'n't 
gooney  enough  to  hang  back  and  say  no!" 

The  boys  jeered  and  laughed. 

"Yaas!  But  w'at  if,  w'en  you  get  to  Sibley,  you 
fine  dere  is  no  broder!  No  farm,  no  oxens,  no 
not'ing,  but  dat  bill  of  sale  in  your  pocket?  Dat 


HIRAM'S    BILL    OF    SALE 


69 


be  awful  fonny!  Eh?  Yaas!  We  say  dat  be  one 
fine  trade!" 

Though  they  are  bound  to  have  their  fun  with 
Hiram,  I  know  they  think  it  is  all  right!  Hiram  is 
too  keen  to  be  easily  fooled! 

There  is  a  concert  down-stairs  this  evening,  our 
landlady's  lovely  daughter  being  the  performer. 
She  has  been  in  and  out  of  our  rooms  all  day,  look- 
ing over  my  shoulder  while  I  was  trying  to  sketch, 
and  begging  quilt  pieces  from  Anna.  She  invited 
us  down  to  see  and  hear  her  new  melodeon.  I  have 
been  wild  to  run  my  fingers  over  its  keys,  but  Anna 
did  not  care  to  go  down. 

The  doors  are  open  so  we  can  hear  her  sing  —  of 
course  she  knows  that  we  are  enjoying  the  song  — 
such  a  very  appropriate  one! 


vv  )     • 

—  |  J-  —  Ps  —  fx  —  fv-  ^  1  -A  —  1- 

•    j  '    p     f\ 

r-9- 

J--     J    -€L  J-  '  J-    '    '-J.     -J-    °- 

1 

-%  —  r~ 

"t~~      ~~f~     i        N     i^     i^  >     is     r. 

T~<r\ 

-$)  —  \— 

J  J  —  J     J     •     J     J        V 

—  fs_,  —  h  p 

L^j/   * 
r—0- 

—  »      ^     '^      *—  g  L-  <^     tf     '. 

J-.V-J.  ^  J 

-sir- 

-ir-^  r 

s  —  1  —  1  j  

"I'll  chase  the  antelope  over  the  plain; 
The  tiger's  cub  I'll  bind  with  a  chain; 
And  the  wild  gazelle,  with  its  silvery  feet, 
I'll  give  to  thee  for  a  playmate  sweet!" 


70       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

By  one  of  the  papers  that  Hiram  brought  in,  I  see 
that  Charles  Dickens,  the  English  novelist,  he  who 
wrote  so  touchingly  of  Little  Nell,  has  only  lately 
left  St.  Louis  —  having  been  here  for  the  purpose  of 
studying  our  country.  I  wish,  I  wish,  I  could  have 
seen  him!  That  would  have  been  something  to 
remember,  forever! 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  EXPLOSION,  AND  A  "BOWER-DANCE" 

t    I    'HERE  will  be  no  danger  of  monotony  in 

rthis  journey,  if  all  continues  as  it  has 
begun.  Here,  where  we  have  not  yet  even 
touched  the  threshold  of  the  great  prairie  country, 
we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  romance,  excite- 
ment, and  adventure. 

As  we  stepped  aboard  the  "Oceana"  at  St.  Louis, 
we  followed  right  in  the  wake  of  a  wedding-party! 
The  bride  still  wore  her  white  veil,  and  all  her  wed- 
ding finery.  The  bridegroom  is  evidently  fearful 
that  the  tender  little  creature  who  has  been  en- 
trusted to  his  care  may  be  suddenly  snatched  from 
him,  for  he  keeps  her  safe  within  the  shelter  of  his 
strong  right  arm,  every  blessed  minute!  The  pas- 
sengers call  them  the  turtle-doves  —  and  when  we 
saw  his  name  written  in  the  clerk's  book  we  found 
it  really  was  "Dove,"  although  she  calls  him 
darling  ! 

But  these  passengers  are  of  little  consequence 
compared  with  one  notable  we  have  on  board  —  the 


72       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

great  Kit  Carson  himself!  And  besides  Kit  Carson, 
we  have  the  Fremont  Exploring  Expedition,  with 
Lieutenant  Fremont  in  command. 

Kit  Carson  is  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Everyone 
knows  of  him.  Everyone  is  sounding  his  praises. 
He  does  not  look  at  all  as  I  thought  he  would.  It 
is  natural  that  one  should  picture  a  scout  and 
Indian-fighter  as  big  and  rough  and  coarse,  and  Mr. 
Carson  is  just  the  opposite  of  this.  His  well-knit 
frame  is  slight  and  graceful.  He  is  so  modest  and 
quiet-spoken  one  might  be  excused  for  thinking  him 
youthful,  inexperienced,  and  all  unused  to  the  hard- 
ships of  life.  It  is  only  by  degrees  that  one  comes 
to  realize  that  he  is  a  man  of  exceptional  strength 
and  exceptional  force  of  character. 

There  are  many  stories  going  about,  concerning 
his  exploits,  —  of  the  bands  of  desperadoes  he  has 
followed  up  and  taken  prisoner,  and  of  the  scores  of 
Indians  he  has  slaughtered!  I  do  not  like  to  think 
of  these  things.  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  he  is  not 
cruel  in  his  nature,  and  I  know  that  if  he  has  slaugh- 
tered human  beings  and  Indians,  it  is  because  he  has 
been  forced  to  do  so  by  the  exigencies  of  warfare. 

Though  he  is  known  as  the  "Terror  of  the  Plains," 
the  Indians  do  not  all  fear  and  hate  him,  as  was 
shown,  plainly  enough,  to-day.  Four  Indian  braves, 
with  their  squaws,  were  plodding  along  the  swampy 


EXPLOSION  AND  BOWER-DANCE    73 

bank,  all  dripping  with  mud  and  water  and  shivering 
with  the  cold,  and  as  we  passed,  they  saw  Carson 
and  called  to  him  with  every  evidence  of  friendli- 
ness. In  their  sign-language  they  made  him  under- 
stand that  their  boat  had  sunk  under  them,  snagged 
by  a  ripping  sawyer,  a  little  ways  down  the  river, 
and  that  they  were  going  to  walk  all  the  way  to  Her- 
mann, twenty  miles  or  more. 

Carson  persuaded  Captain  Miller  to  stop  the 
"Oceana,"  and  take  the  poor  half -drowned  creatures 
on  board.  They  were  not  effusive  in  expressing 
their  thanks,  Kit  Carson  being  the  only  one  among 
us  these  kings  of  the  ancient  soil  would  deign  to 
notice.  The  big  braves  wrapped  their  blankets 
tightly  around  them,  and  sat  themselves  down  on 
the  hurricane-deck  —  a  row  of  particularly  expres- 
sionless mummies  they  seemed  to  be!  The  squaws 
went  down  to  the  engine-room  to  dry  and  warm 
themselves.  One  of  them  had  such  a  pretty  pap- 
poose,  and  John  was  trying  to  get  it  to  notice  him, 
and  went  with  them  down  the  stairs.  Just  after 
they  had  disappeared,  we  felt  a  shock  all  through 
the  boat,  and  heard  a  muffled  "boom!"  A  cloud 
of  steam  immediately  came  rolling  up  from  below, 
and  my  first  thought  was  that  John  was  down 
there,  in  the  scalding  steam! 

I  dropped  down  those  stairs  at  a  single  bound,  — 


74       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  there  was  John,  with  the  little  Indian  baby  in 
his  arms,  and  John  was  smiling  at  my  anxious  face, 
and  no  one  was  hurt!  There  wasn't  anything  so 
very  much  the  matter,  the  engineer  said,  only  some- 
thing-or-other  had  blown  out  of  the  boiler-head,  and 
had  done  no  harm. 

The  engineer  was  explaining  to  one  of  the  crew 
that  he  could  "fix  her,  good  as  ever,  in  half-an-hour," 
when  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  up  on  deck. 
Some  of  the  passengers  had  gone  crazy  with  fright, 
and  in  a  crowd  were  rushing  to  one  side  of  the 
vessel.  The  boat  seemed  about  to  turn  turtle  and 
go  down! 

That  engineer  went  into  a  raving  fury,  and  began 
swearing  in  the  wickedest  way!  "Them  panic- 
struck  fools  will  capsize  this  boat  —  they  ain't  noth- 
ing the  matter,  but  they  will  send  us  to  the  bottom. 
Why  don't  somebody  tell  them  that  the  boat  is  all 
right?" 

He  was  looking  at  me  as  he  spoke,  and,  without 
ever  stopping  to  think,  I  sprang  up  the  stairs. 

I  was  in  the  midst  of  the  crazy,  panic-stricken 
crowd,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  I  struck  a  big 
man  in  the  face  who  tried  to  thrust  me  aside!  I 
know  I  screamed  at  them  like  a  fury  and  a  terma- 
gant! "There  isn't  any  danger!  The  engineer 
says  there  isn't  any  danger!  It's  all  over!  He 


EXPLOSION  AND  BOWER-DANCE    75 

says  so!  You  are  making  the  boat  tip  over,  your 
own  selves,  crowding  all  to  that  side!  You're  crazy, 
that's  what  he  says!  Get  back  to  your  places!" 

They  looked  at  me,  and  looked  at  each  other, 
dazed  as  if  they  had  just  wakened  from  a  nightmare 
dream  —  and  the  panic  was  over !  They  came  back 
to  their  senses,  the  boat  came  back  to  an  even  keel, 
and  I  came  down  below  to  hide  my  shamed  face  in 
the  state-room. 

I  thought  I  never  would  want  to  go  out  to  dinner, 
or  face  those  passengers  again!  It  is  most  unbe- 
coming for  a  gentle-bred  woman  to  make  herself  so 
conspicuous.  I  do  not  see  how  I  could  have  done 
it,  —  but  indeed  I  did  not  realize  what  I  was  say- 
ing. I  just  repeated  what  the  engineer  said,  — • 
and  I  suppose  I  should  be  thankful  I  did  not  repeat 
all  he  said !  I  acted,  first  —  and  thought  about  it 
afterward. 

"Just  wouldn't  Martha  have  been  properly 
shocked,  though,  if  she  could  have  seen  you?"  was 
my  brother  John's  nice  way  of  consoling  me! 

There  were  so  many  other  things  happening,  how- 
ever, the  people  have,  I  think,  almost  forgotten  the 
part  I  had  in  the  excitement. 

When  the  boat  made  the  first  lurch  to  starboard, 
Mr.  Dove,  with  his  bride  in  his  arms,  plunged  into 
the  water,  —  an  involuntary  plunge,  I  suppose  it 


76       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

was,  —  but  being  out  of  the  boat  he  had  no  mind  to 
go  back  to  it!  Encumbered  as  he  was  by  the  little 
lady,  he  was  swimming  fast  and  far  as  he  could,  and 
the  boatmen  whom  the  Captain  sent  after  them 
declared  that  they  were  not  even  trying  to  make 
the  shore.  "They  was  headed  for  St.  Louis,  and 
bound  to  keep  a-going,  and  we  could  hardly  get 
them  persuaded  to  come  back  with  us!" 

If  some  of  the  white  folks  were  frightened  foolish, 
the  Indians  made  up  for  it  by  not  being  frightened 
at  all!  Wrapped  in  their  blankets  they  sat  in 
silence,  "and  didn't  blink  an  eye"  nor  make  a  single 
move,  till  the  boat  turned  in  at  Bates'  Wood-yard, 
where  our  boat,  the  "Oceana,"  is  now  lying  by  for 
repairs.  Then  they  majestically  rose  and  stalked 
away,  and  all  they  said  was,  "White  man  make  big 
noise,  —  big  fool,  —  Indian  walk!" 

We  have  been  here  at  the  landing  for  hours  — 
almost  a  whole  day.  The  accident  to  our  machinery 
was  greater  than  the  engineer  had  at  first  supposed, 
and  now  Captain  Miller  has  decided  to  take  the 
boat  back  to  St.  Louis. 

The  "Oceana"  looks  as  fine  as  the  best  of  the 
Ohio  river  boats.  She  has  been  newly  painted, 
white-and-gold,  both  inside  and  out.  There  is  a 
red  velvet  carpet  in  the  Ladies'  Cabin,  and  mahog- 
any furniture,  and  a  grand  piano,  and  a  big  crystal 


EXPLOSION  AND  BOWER-DANCE    77 

chandelier.  But  her  engines  are  second-class,  and 
second-hand  and  out  of  repair,  besides!  The  pas- 
sengers say  it  is  a  wonder  that  we  were  not  all 
"blown  sky-high." 

Because  nothing  dreadful  happened,  they  will  not 
treat  the  matter  seriously,  yet  it  was  serious.  This 
steam-power  is  a  dangerous  thing.  There  is  not  a 
season  that  a  dozen  boats  are  not  blown  up  in  ex- 
plosions, and  hundreds  of  passengers  killed  or  in- 
jured, —  yet  we  are  willing  to  incur  the  extra  risk, 
because  of  the  saving  in  time,  and  because  of  the 
comforts  and  luxuries  that  are  provided. 

John  says  that  Kit  Carson  has  his  hands  full 
trying  to  pacify  Lieutenant  Fremont,  who  is  show- 
ing himself  restless  and  uneasy,  —  impatient  that 
his  Expedition  is  so  delayed.  Everyone  knows  that 
Captain  Miller  is  doing  the  best  he  can,  under  the 
circumstances.  He  will  wait  here,  and  put  us  on 
the  first  up-river  boat  that  will  take  us.  "And 
what  better  can  you  ask  than  that?"  the  clerk  says. 

The  men-passengers  are  making  the  best  of  the 
situation.  They  are  getting  up  a  "bower-dance" 
to  pass  the  time  away.  They  have  borrowed  lum- 
ber from  the  boat's  stores  to  make  a  dancing-plat- 
form, and  they  have  built  up  over  it  a  bower  of 
young  trees,  cut  down  with  all  their  wealth  of 
summer  greenery  thick  upon  them. 


78       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  "Oceana"  has  its  own  string  band,  and  al- 
ready the  fiddlers  are  scraping  with  their  bows  upon 
the  strings.  They  have  struck  into  the  tunes,  "  Jim- 
a-long-Josey"  and  "The  Merrie  Miner."  I  have 
heard  Uncle  Asaph  play  them  both,  "a-many  and 
a-many  a  time,"  and  perhaps  that  is  why  they 
sound  so  quaint  and  sweet  to  me. 

A  dozen  laughing  couples  are  running  down  the 
gang-plank,  eager  to  be  first  upon  the  dancing- 
floor.  The  white-haired  old  fiddler  is  calling  off: 
"Oh,  the  merrie  miner!  S'lute  your  pretty  partner! 
Ladies  f orrard,  men  on  the  outside !  All  jine  hands, 
and  all  hands  round!  Cross,  and  shake  your  foot, 
and  cross  right  back!  Swing  your  gal,  and  pick 
her  up,  and  tote  her  home!" 


EXPLOSION  AND  BOWER-DANCE    79 

"A  boat  in  sight,  coining  up-river!"  John  and 
Mr.  Carson  have  been  on  the  lookout.  Though  it 
is  four  miles  down-stream,  Mr.  Carson  professes  to 
recognize  it  as  the  "Trapper" — one  of  the  American 
Fur  Company's  boats  —  with  Pierre  Chouteau  as 
Captain. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  GAMBLERS 

THE  "  Trapper  "  is  a  much  smaller  vessel  than 
the  "Oceana,"  but  it  is  strongly  built,  and 
very    fast.     We    may    consider    ourselves 
lucky  to  be  aboard  her,  for  while  we  are  racing 
swiftly  up-stream,  the  rest  of  the  "Oceana's"  pas- 
sengers, including  the  turtle-doves,  are  still  wearily 
waiting,  down  at  Bates'  Wood-yard. 

Our  Captain  —  Captain  Pierre  Chouteau  —  would 
not  have  burdened  his  boat  with  extra  passengers, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  very  special  interest  he  feels 
in  the  Fremont  Expedition.  Fremont  is  to  purchase 
his  full  traveling  outfit  from  Francis  and  Cyprian 
Chouteau,  who  have  a  big  Trading  Post  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Kaw;  and  when  Captain  Pierre  learned 
that  Fremont  was  detained  at  the  landing,  he  offered 
to  take  him  and  his  party  on  to  their  destination, 
—  and  Hiram  somehow  contrived  it  so  that  we  were 
taken  on  board  with  the  others. 

Anna  and  I  were  making  our  way  through  the 
crowd,  when  John  came  hurrying  to  us,  breathless 


THE    GAMBLERS  81 

in  his  eagerness  to  tell  us  a  most  wonderful  piece  of 
news. 

"Deya!  You  can't  guess  who  is  on  this  boat! 
One  of  the  passengers  —  and  he  never  knew  that 
we  were  here,  till  I  found  him!  You  couldn't  guess 
in  a  week !  Do  guess,  Deya,  —  you  are  so  slow ! 
It's  Mr.  Breunner!  Our  Mr.  Breunner!  And  he  is 
going  down  into  Old  Mexico  —  and  maybe  he  will 
go  with  our  caravan  as  far  as  Santa  Fe!  The 
Baron  von  Munster  —  whatever  it  is  —  at  Alton, 
made  the  arrangement  for  him  to  go,  and  he  thinks 
it  is  a  great  thing!" 

All  this  was  tumbling  out  of  John's  lips,  while 
"our  Mr.  Breunner"  was  making  his  way  to  our 
side. 

When  we  parted  with  Mr,  Breunner  at  Alton, 
not  expecting  to  see  him  again,  he  seemed  almost  a 
stranger,  but  now,  when  he  came  toward  us  with 
the  light  of  pleased  anticipation  in  his  eyes,  we  were 
glad  to  receive  him  as  an  old-time  friend. 

I  was  curious  to  know  how  it  happened  that  his 
plans  were  changed  so  suddenly.  I  had  understood 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Appalachian  country, 
and  now  he  was  going  westward  instead  of  east! 
John's  jumbled  explanation,  however,  had  to  suffice 
us  for  the  present.  Mr.  Breunner  volunteered 
nothing  further  himself. 


82       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

With  Mr.  Breunner,  as  traveling-companion,  there 
is  a  certain  grave  and  dignified  —  not  to  say,  morose 
—  individual,  a  Mr.  Harrod,  a  merchant  from 
Boston.  We  were  presented  in  due  form,  but  if 
Mr.  Harrod  observed  us  or  heard  our  names,  he 
gave  no  sign. 

I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  it  will  be  useless 
trying  to  be  civil  to  this  severe  and  cynical-looking 
gentleman.  Dark-faced,  forbidding  in  manner, 
wrapped  in  his  own  gloomy  thoughts,  his  senses 
seem  barred  against  the  pleasant  trivialities  of 
every-day  life.  Poor  man!  He  looks  as  if  he 
had  never  snftled  in  his  life,  and  never  expected 
to  do  so. 

But  for  all  his  cold  and  unapproachable  manner 
he  is  still  a  person  one  cannot  help  but  look  at  twice, 
as  he  paces  the  deck,  gazing  over  the  heads  of 
everyone,  speaking  to  no  one. 

To-night  it  was  very  cold  out-of-doors,  and  the 
passengers  gathered  in  the  cabin  to  listen  to  the 
music  and  to  amuse  themselves  with  card-games. 
Mr.  Harrod  was  the  last  to  come  in,  and  as  he  was 
going  to  his  state-room,  Captain  Chouteau  called  to 
him,  asking  him  to  sit  in  at  the  game,  and  moved 
over  to  make  room  for  him,  but  without  any  recog- 
nition of  the  courtesy,  he  went  to  his  room  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him! 


THE    GAMBLERS  83 

Everyone  here  plays  cards,  but  not  for  money! 
Captain  Chouteau  will  not  allow  gambling  on  board 
his  boat,  and  his  word,  of  course,  is  law.  While  he 
is  strict  about  gambling,  he  is  not  so  strict  in  regard 
to  drinking!  There  is  a  bar  in  the  forward  part  of 
the  boat,  and  late  at  night  the  men  begin  to  get 
very  noisy.  We  hear  loud  talking,  and  often  scuf- 
fling, —  and  sometimes  fighting  too.  But  nothing 
serious  happens,  —  unless  something  is  happening 
now!  I  don't  know  what  it  can  mean!  The  boat,  I 
am  sure,  is  turning  in  to  the  shore!  The  men  are 
calling  out,  and  shouting  and  laughing! 

Hiram  and  Captain  Chouteau  and  big  Rob  are 
holding  a  conference  just  outside  our  door  —  some- 
thing exciting  is  surely  taking  place. 

Anna  and  I  just  had  to  find  out  what  it  meant! 
We  put  on  our  dresses  and  shoes,  and  stepped  out 
into  the  cabin,  and  Anna  made  Hiram  believe  that 
it  was  necessary  for  her  to  have  her  brown  carpet- 
bag, that  was  down  in  the  baggage-room,  right  at 
once!  While  he  was  occupied  in  getting  the  useless 
bag,  we  sat  there  on  the  divan,  and  learned  all  about 
what  had  happened. 

While  the  men  in  the  cabin  were  playing  their 
games,  with  innocent  counters,  three  professional 
gamblers  (notorious  characters  who  had  slipped 


84       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

aboard,  it  seemed,  without  being  recognized)  had 
got  hold  of  one  of  Fremont's  men  who  was  carrying 
money  that  belonged  to  the  Expedition,  and  they 
had  inveigled  him  into  their  state-room,  and  cheated 
him  out  of  all  that  he  had  with  him !  He  was  smart 
enough  to  play  that  he  was  stupidly  drunk,  and 
they  were  foolish  enough  to  let  him  go,  —  and  he 
went  straight  to  the  Captain  with  his  tale. 

The  rascals  were  quarreling  over  the  division  of 
the  spoils,  when  the  door  suddenly  fell  in  on  them, 
with  the  Captain  and  big  Rob  back  of  it!  They 
dragged  the  three  down  the  length  of  the  main 
cabin,  and  out  on  deck,  and  then  dumped  them 
over-board  —  into  the  mud  and  slush  of  the  river! 

Up  to  their  knees  in  mire,  the  three  begged  and 
implored  the  Captain  to  let  them  on  board  again  — 
they  promised  him  on  their  word  of  honor  as  South- 
ern gentlemen  that  they  would  quit  gambling  for 
good  and  all,  if  the  Captain  would  only  be  good  to 
them!  But  the  Captain  was  not  to  be  cajoled. 

"Dat  good  Cap'n  is  not  dis  Cap'n!  I  feel  not 
good  at  you  —  not  whatsoever!  Nex'  time  you 
remember  'bout  dat  sign  w'at  is  put  up  ev'yw'ere 
on  dis  boat,  No  Gamblin9 !  Planty  big  sign  for 
you  to  read!  Nex'  time  maybe  you  t'ink  I  mean 
w'at  I  say!'  Yaas  an'  dey  cry,  an'  dey  cry!  But 
dey  not  so  bad  off!  Dat  nice  sof  place  w'ere  dey 


THE    GAMBLERS  85 

light!  Dey  only  have  to  stay  dere  till  daylight, 
maybe,  an'  some  boat  come,  an'  pick  'em  up.  Only 
dey  better  stay  w'ere  dey  is,  for  it  be  bad  swamp 
all  'roun'  dere  —  dey  not  dare  try  to  wade  out ! 

"Dey  know  all  de  time  dat  dere  be  no  gamblin' 
on  none  of  dese  Missouri  steamboat!  Dem  gam- 
blers too  rackless  —  too  rapscallious !  Dey  get  so 
bold  dat  passengers  be  'fraid  to  bring  deir  money 
on  de  boat,  —  an'  dat  bad  for  business !  So  we  jus' 
pass  de  word  dat  de  whole  gamblin'  business  got  to 
stop!  Dat  is  good  rule  for  de  boat!  On  de  shore 
—  well,  dat  be  different.  I,  myself,  I  play  wid  de 
bes'  of  dem,  on  shore.  Dat  nobody's  business. 
But  not  on  de  boat!  We  fix  dem  good  if  dey  try 
it,  —  dat  is  one  sure  t'ing!"  He  pounded  big  Rob 
on  the  back.  "Dis  one  bully  boy!  You  seen  'im, 
eh?  'E  lif  dose  men,  two  of  dem  —  one  in  each 
han'  —  lak  dey  be  sick  kitten  —  yaas,  by  de  neck, 
an'  drap  'em  over  de  rail!  It  was  dat  easy  trick! 
Dose  men  make  one  splurge  in  de  worl',  w'en  dey 
strike  dat  mud-bank!  Wat  you  say?  De  drinks 
on  me?  Yaas,  dat  all  right!  Ev'ybody!" 

They  trooped  away  to  the  bar-room,  and  we  took 
the  brown  carpet-bag,  and  retired  to  our  little  sleep- 
ing room  —  but  not  to  sleep !  There  is  a  crowd  of 
young  boys  on  board,  of  whom  Danny  Driscoll  and 
Farrell  Montgomery  are  the  leaders.  "A  passel  of 


86       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

rowdy  college  youngsters,"  Himey  calls  them  —  and 
they  are  parading  around  and  around  the  cabin, 
singing,  in  not  unmusical  fashion,  "Martin  Halli- 
gan's Aunt "  —  and  they  are  using  the  dinner-gong 
to  mark  time  with!  There  is  no  telling  when  they 
will  be  ready  to  quiet  down! 


"Here's  a  health  to  Martin  Halligan's  aunt! 

And  I'll  tell  you  the  rason  why; 
She  ates  becase  she's  hungry, 

And  she  drinks  becase  she's  dhry! 
If  she  e'er  saw  a  man  stop  the  course  of  the  can, 

Martin  Halligan's  aunt  would  cry! 
Arrah!  fill  up  the  glass,  and  let  the  toast  pass! 

How  d'ye  know  but  ye'r  neighbor's  dhry?" 


CHAPTER  XII 
EACH  IN  HIS  OWN  WAY 

JOHN  has   thrown   aside   his    story-book!     He 
doesn't  need  to  be  reading  the  fictitious  ad- 
ventures of  imaginary  heroes,  when  Kit  Car- 
son is  here  with  us;  and  though  Mr.  Carson  can 
hardly  be  induced  to  speak  of  his  own  exciting  ex- 
periences himself,  there  are  plenty  of  others  who 
will.    Everyone  is  talking  of  him,  but  he  does  not 
seem  to  be  conscious  of  it. 

He  keeps  John  with  him  for  hours  at  a  time. 
"He's  a  fine-spirited  lad,  and  has  the  makings  of 
a  strong  fine  man,"  he  told  me.  "You  ain't  to 
worry  yourself  too  much  because  he  looks  so  peaked 
and  delicate-like.  This  Mizzouri  air  ain't  none  too 
good  for  him  —  it's  chock-full  of  malary,  and  pizen 
to  strangers;  but  he'll  soon  be  out'n  it,  out  on 
the  high  plains,  and  when  you  get  him  there  you 
just  turn  him  loose,  to  rough  it  with  the  other  men." 
(The  other  men!)  "Let  him  sleep  on  the  bare 
ground,  with  nothing  but  his  blanket  between  him 
and  the  sky!  Let  him  eat  the  same  fare  the  others 
do,  and  all  —  and  he'll  be  all  right,  in  no  time!" 


88       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Indeed,  I  think  that  John  must  have  been  ready 
to  make  the  turn  for  the  better,  even  before  we 
started  on  this  journey  —  he  seems  so  much  im- 
proved. Because  Mr.  Carson  sees  the  vivid  interest 
that  John  feels  in  all  he  says  and  does,  he  takes 
pains  to  be  more  than  usually  friendly  and  com- 
panionable. He  has  changed  his  place  at  the  table, 
so  as  to  be  near  us.  The  sublime  Fremont,  and  his 
corps  of  officers,  naturally  have  the  place  of  honor 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  next  to  the  Captain. 

The  conversation  there  is  not  specially  enlivening 
—  dignity  is  an  oppressive  commodity;  and  it  is 
to  be  noticed  that  the  Captain  slips  away  at  the 
first  opportunity,  and  comes  down  to  join  in  the 
livelier  discussions  that  seem  to  belong  particularly 
to  the  foot  of  the  festive  board. 

"That  Hiram  and  that  bunch  of  college  young- 
sters do  carry  on,  something  scandalous,"  I  heard  a 
soured  old  dyspeptic  complaining  in  a  corner.  And 
it's  true,  they  are  noisy,  —  bubbling  over  with  their 
witty  foolery  and  nonsense,  ready  for  anything  in 
the  way  of  a  practical  joke,  —  as  the  soured  old 
dyspeptic  had  found  out!  His  place  at  the  table 
was  right  between  Danny  Driscoll  and  Twank 
Evans,  and  they  kept  his  plate  piled  with  every- 
thing rich  and  tempting,  and  consequently  demoral- 
izing to  a  distressed  stomach!  And  the  old  man 


EACH    IN    HIS    OWN    WAY          89 

ate  —  and  suffered,  and  then  cried  out  upon  those 
who  had  put  temptation  in  his  way! 

It  is  a  decidedly  mixed  crowd  that  we  have  for 
neighbors.  Besides  the  four  college  boys,  and 
Hiram  and  Anna,  and  Mr.  Breunner,  and  Mr. 
Harrod,  and  Kit  Carson,  there  are  three  Bostonese, 
and  a  "man  from  Maine,"  and  a  young  Sir  Harry 
Hotspur  from  Georgia!  Political  discussions  are 
the  order  of  the  day.  "Will  there  be  war  with 
Mexico?"  "Will  the  United  States  annex  Texas?" 
"If  so,  what  then?" 

To-day  at  dinner  everybody  was  talking  at  once! 
Wine  had  been  served  to  some  of  the  men,  and  that 
may  have  made  them  more  inclined  to  disputation 
and  argument.  The  young  "Hotspur"  rose  to  his 
feet  and  proposed  a  toast  to  —  "The  brave  Sam 
Houston  —  the  George  Washington  of  Texas!" 
The  toast  was  quietly  accepted,  but  it  was  the 
beginning  of  an  acrimonious  debate!  The  South- 
erner turned  to  the  man  who  sat  next  to  him,  and 
banged  his  fist  upon  the  table  till  the  glasses  clat- 
tered against  each  other. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,  if  Texas  makes  formal  demand  to 
be  admitted  as  a  State,  —  if  she  asks  us  to  protect 
her  from  the  wanton  cruelty  and  brutalities  of  the 
Mexicans,  —  we  would  be  unworthy  of  our  heritage 
as  free  men  and  lovers  of  liberty,  if  we  refused  to 


90      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

listen  to  her  pleadings!  We  are  bound,  by  all  our 
traditions  as  a  chivalrous  people,  to  open  our  doors 
to  her!" 

The  reply  came  from  Maine  before  Georgia  had 
fairly  finished  speaking. 

"Yes,  and  when  we  open  our  doors  to  her,  she'll 
come,  —  and  bring  her  slaves  with  her!  And  by  her 
representation  in  Congress  additional  power  will  be 
secured  by  the  South  in  favor  of  Southern  interests!" 

And  from  further  down  the  table. 

"We  cannot  take  Texas  so  easily.  Mexico  will 
not  permit  it.  If  we  so  much  as  lay  a  finger  on 
Texas,  Mexico  will  declare  war,  —  and  it  will  be 
war  to  the  knife!" 

A  sepulchral  voice  muttered,  "Remember  the 
Alamo!"  —  and  so  the  controversy  raged. 

There  was  an  Illinois  man  at  the  table  —  Owen 
Edwards,  who  had  only  lately  come  from  Santa 
Fe,  and  he  said,  in  a  quiet  way  that  was  infinitely 
more  convincing  than  all  the  loud  talk  of  the  others, 
that  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  Santa  Fe  will 
sometime  in  the  near  future  close  its  doors  against 
all  Americans  —  or  more  especially  against  American 
traders.  No  one  knows  when,  perhaps  this  year, 
perhaps  next.  And  he  says  that  already  in  Santa 
Fe  there  are  confiscations  of  the  property  of  the 
American  residents,  on  the  flimsiest  pretexts,  or 


EACH    IN    HIS    OWN    WAY          91 

with  no  excuse  at  all,  and  that  Americans  there  are 
in  fear  of  their  lives ! 

"As  well  they  may  be,"  Georgia  replied,  "seeing 
that  their  Governor  openly  instigated  the  murder 
of  Olivarez,  the  American  Consul,  no  longer  ago 
than  last  year,  and  quite  openly  rewarded  the  one 
whose  hand  struck  the  fatal  blow!  And  the  United 
States  Government  has  swallowed  the  insult,  —  has 
demanded  no  reparation,  —  has  let  the  murder  go 
unavenged!" 

I  do  not  know  what  it  was  that  drew  my  eyes  to 
Mr.  Harrod's  face.  I  could  hardly  say  that  it  was 
more  fixed  and  stern  than  usual,  yet  there  was  a 
strange  look  upon  his  face  that  made  me  feel  that 
there  was  in  this  conversation  something  personal, 
something  painful  to  him,  and  I  was  not  surprised 
when  he  rose  and  left  the  table. 

Hiram  had  been  listening,  with  a  very  evident 
anxiety,  to  these  speeches,  and  he  could  keep  still 
no  longer. 

"That's  a  pretty  prospect,  now  ain't  it,  for  them 
that's  a-startin'  for  Santa  Fe,  —  with  all  they  got 
in  the  world  invested  in  a  Santa  Fe  assortment! 
Well,  I  reckon!  But  it  ain't  a  prospect  to  my  lik- 
ing! I  ain't  gone  so  far  on  the  road  but  I  can  take 
the  back-track,  if  it's  all  as  bad  as  that!  I  ain't 
a-calculatin'  to  walk  into  no  mare's  nest,  not  if  I 


92       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

knows  it!  Twicet  the  Deacon's  money  wouldn't 
tempt  me  if  it's  like  you  say!" 

He  looked  up  questioningly  to  Kit  Carson,  as  if 
to  ask  him  if  such  things  could  be  true;  and  Carson 
answered  quietly: 

"All  this  is  goin'  a  lot  too  fast!  However  bad 
things  may  have  been  —  and  they  have  been  bad 
enough  —  I  count  on  this  season  as  a  right  pros- 
perous one  for  the  caravans  trading  with  Santa  Fe, 
and  just  for  the  reason  that  there  is  a  war-scare  in 
the  air,  and  Mexico  is  a-holdin'  her  breath  a-waitin' ! 
She  ain't  nowise  ready  to  declare  war,  as  yet;  and 
won't  be,  as  long  as  there  is  any  chance  of  gitting 
Texas  back  under  her  banner.  Texas  ain't  asked 
to  be  jined  to  the  United  States,  —  and  Mexico  will 
wait  for  that  and  till  the  United  States  agrees  to  it! 
It's  Santa  Anna  that's  runnin'  things  in  Mexico  City 
now.  It's  him  as  we'll  have  to  reckon  with,  and 
he's  as  wily  as  an  old  Indian  chief.  Keen  and  long- 
headed —  he  will  be  mighty  careful  how  he  riles  the 
American  people  by  any  more  bloody  deeds.  If  the 
Americans  is  once  roused  up  to  real  anger  they  will 
take  Texas,  without  a  doubt.  He  knows  that,  well 
as  the  next  one;  and  that  is  what  he  will  be  de- 
termined to  prevent,  if  it's  anyway  possible!" 

Carson's  words  put  a  stop  to  the  discussion,  for 
the  time  being,  —  perhaps  because  the  men  were 


EACH    IN    HIS    OWN    WAY          93 

convinced,  and  perhaps  because  they  forgot  their 
differences  in  the  interest  of  watching  the  boat 
swinging  into  the  wharf  here  at  Arrow-Rock. 

Mr.  Carson  and  Mr.  Breunner  did  not  seem  to 
notice  it  when  the  others  left  the  cabin,  they  were  so 
busily  engaged  in  conversation  —  asking  questions 
about  the  East  and  about  the  West.  Kit  Carson 
wanted  to  know  about  the  growth  of  the  great 
cities,  and  of  the  railroads,  —  of  the  development  of 
the  Mississippi  valley,  and  what  this  will  mean  to 
the  country  west  of  the  big  river. 

"Will  bridges  be  built  across  the  Mississippi? 
Will  steam-cars  ever  make  their  way  to  the  far 
western  plains?  And  if  they  do,  what  will  become 
of  the  trapper's  and  fur-trader's  business?" 

And  then,  modestly,  in  answer  to  Mr.  Breunner's 
interested  queries,  Carson  spoke  of  the  wonders  of 
the  West  —  the  uncharted  rivers  beyond  the 
Rockies  —  the  "painted  chasms"  and  black  abys- 
mal gorges;  the  strange  ruined  cities,  built,  as  swal- 
lows might  build,  high  up  in  crannies  of  seemingly 
inaccessible  cliffs;  the  mines  of  jewels,  opals  and 
turquoise;  the  outcropping  veins  of  iron  and  lead 
and  copper  and  silver.  He  told  of  the  fabulously 
rich  "lost  mines  of  Mexico"  —  destroyed  a  century 
and  a  half  ago  by  the  Indian  slaves,  when  they  rose 


94       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

against  their  barbarously  cruel  masters,  the  Spanish 
conquerors  of  Mexico. 

It  was  a  fascinating  study  to  see  the  two  men 
together!  They  are  both  so  sincere  and  honest  and 
unassuming,  —  and  yet  they  are  so  different,  in  tem- 
perament as  well  as  in  education.  Mr.  Breunner, 
though  he  spends  many  weeks  of  each  year  out 
of  doors,  has  not  yet  lost  the  rosy  freshness  of  com- 
plexion that  is  characteristic  of  the  German  and 
English  people.  His  speech  is  quick  and  forcible. 
His  eyes  are  like  clear  open  windows  through  which 
one  can  see  the  thought  in  his  mind,  before  his  lips 
can  utter  it  —  or  so  it  seems  to  me. 

Mr.  Carson  is  browned  and  tanned  by  exposure. 
He  is  sinewy  and  supple  and  strong  —  with  the 
suppleness  and  strength  of  a  well-tempered  steel 
blade.  He  is  keen  to  notice  all  that  goes  on  around 
him  —  marvelously  so.  He  is  quick  to  understand, 
is  attentive  and  appreciative  of  all  that  is  said,  but 
there  is  no  hint  of  eagerness  in  his  manner.  I  am 
sure  that  his  pulses  never  quicken.  He  seems  ever 
the  same  —  cool,  quiet,  imperturbable. 

They  may  talk  of  the  illiteracy  of  Carson  —  and  I 
suppose  it  is  true  that  he  can  neither  read  nor  write 
—  and  of  the  erudition  of  Mr.  Breunner;  but  they 
are  both  learned  men,  each  according  to  the  oppor- 
tunity that  has  been  given  him. 


EACH    IN    HIS    OWN    WAY          95 

I  admire  Mr.  Breunner  all  the  more  because  he 
values  Mr.  Carson's  unusual  talents  so  highly.  He 
says  Carson  never  forgets  a  trail  once  trodden,  that 
he  knows  all  of  the  Great  West  as  if  the  country 
were  a  map,  spread  out  before  him.  His  courage 
and  power  of  endurance  border  upon  the  super- 
human. He  has  come  through  the  most  dreadful 
experiences  in  safety,  when  the  bravest  and  stoutest 
of  his  companions  have  lain  down  to  die  in  despair. 

It  is  a  most  fortunate  thing  for  Lieutenant  Fre- 
mont, Mr.  Breunner  says,  that  he  met  Carson  as  he 
did,  and  that  he  was  able  to  secure  his  services. 
With  him,  the  success  of  the  Expedition  is  assured  — 
without  him,  no  one  can  tell  what  disasters  might 
not  overtake  them. 

To-day  is  Sunday,  yet  the  wharfs  are  crowded  and 
there  is  loading  and  unloading  of  merchandise,  as 
on  every  other  day.  The  only  difference  we  notice 
is  that  the  passengers  on  the  boat  are  dressed  in 
their  "Sunday-best,"  and  for  dinner  we  had  chicken, 
and  two  kinds  of  pie!  To-night  the  few  men  who 
could  not  wean  themselves  from  the  cards,  retreated 
to  the  shadowy  corners  at  the  further  end  of  the 
cabin;  but  most  of  the  passengers  were  satisfied  to 
sit  around  and  talk,  and  listen  to  "them  college 
youngsters"  as  they  sung  their  glees  and  rounds. 


96       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Every  night,  below  deck,  there  is  singing  by  the 
negro  "roustabouts,"  with  Joe-Lu  as  leader.  Joe-Lu 
is  a  sort  of  king  among  these  blacks.  He  does  with 
them  as  he  will.  The  magic  of  his  fiddle  is  a  magic 
to  which  they  yield  themselves,  body  and  soul. 

Are  their  muscles  sore,  their  bones  aching,  their 
eyes  heavy- weighted  with  sleep?  All  this  is  for- 
gotten when  his  bow  begins  its  airy  evolutions  over 
the  quivering  strings.  Just  let  the  soft  tones  of 
that  fiddle  suggest  the  first  note  of  one  of  their 
darkey  chants,  and  they  are  all  swaying  and  bend- 
ing, keeping  time  to  the  music! 

Captain  Chouteau  says  that  by  rights  he  ought 
to  refund  Joe-Lu's  passage-money. 

"Dose  niggers  do  twice  de  work,  an'  dey  take  it 
as  if  'twas  play,  when  dey  can  be  steppin'  to  dat 
conjur-music  of  his'n!" 

It  must  have  been  nearly  midnight  when  Anna 
and  John  and  I  went  out  to  watch  them  "load-up" 
at  the  wood-yard.  The  sky  was  utterly  black  — 
there  was  not  a  glimmer  of  light  except  where  the 
crimson  glare  of  the  rosin-torches  fell,  —  but  within 
this  narrow  circle  every  object  stood  out  with 
dazzling  clearness. 

Up  and  down  the  gang-plank  double  rows  of 
negroes  were  coming  and  going.  They  were  stripped 
to  the  waist,  and  their  black  bodies  glistened  with 


EACH    IN    HIS    OWN    WAY          97 

the  sweat  of  their  labor.  Balanced  upon  their 
shoulders  were  logs  that  it  took  two  men  to  lift  into 
place;  yet  they  stepped  along  jauntily,  giving  their 
bare  feet  an  extra  flourish,  or  an  extra  stamp,  as  the 
exigencies  of  the  music  seemed  to  require. 

Joe-Lu  was  playing  a  jig-tune  that  went  with  a 
most  erratic  rhythm  —  "Pat-a-pat  Juba!  Now 
step  lively!  Pick  up  your  load  there,  nigger-man! 
Everybody  laugh  and  sing  tra-la-Iou!" 

When  their  work  was  done,  and  the  wood  piled 
high  on  the  deck,  they  settled  themselves  to  sing. 
Their  songs  are  the  hardest  to  remember!  Differ- 
ent ones  among  them  sing  the  different  verses,  and 
no  two  of  them  sing  the  air  exactly  alike  —  each 
one  embroidering  the  score  with  grace-notes  and 
sliding  arpeggios  to  suit  his  own  fancy  —  even  the 
chorus  is  varied  for  the  different  verses.  But  no 
matter  what  liberties  are  taken  with  the  notes,  the 
time  is  perfectly  kept,  and  marked  with  swaying 
body  —  with  the  stamp  of  the  foot,  with  the  clap 
of  the  hand. 

Many  of  their  songs  are  pathetic  love-ballads; 
and  it  is  remarkable  how  pure  and  refined  in  senti- 
ment, how  simple  and  truly  touching,  some  of 
these  are.  Their  so-called  religious  songs  are  not 
so  admirable.  They  speak  freely  and  flippantly  of 
"de  debbil."  It  is  evident  that  they  do  not  regard 


98       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Satan  as  the  incarnation  of  Evil.  To  them  he  is 
only  a  tricky  enemy  who  is  to  be  fooled,  cajoled, 
and  out-witted. 

We  watched  them  from  above,  and  listened  to 
their  strange  soft  Southern  speech.  It  was  almost 
new  to  us  —  we  have  seen  so  few  of  the  real  Southern 
slaves. 

I  have  always  hated  it,  to  hear  people  speak  of 
them  contemptuously  as  "niggers"  —  hated  it  to 
think  of  their  being  treated  as  mere  chattels,  as 
animals,  bought  and  sold,  made  to  labor,  without 
themselves  ever  expecting  to  reap  any  share  of  the 
fruits  of  that  labor!  But  as  they  huddled  together 
on  the  bare  boards  and  stretched  themselves  out  to 
sleep,  covered  only  by  their  scanty  rags  of  clothing, 
they  really  did  not  look  like  human  beings,  —  and 
I  almost  forgot  to  pity  them. 

Joe-Lu  is  as  different  from  them  as  if  he  belonged 
to  another  race  —  as  indeed  he  does.  In  features, 
form,  carriage,  and  mental  capacity  he  is  different. 
These  others  are  of  the  Gulf-of-Guinea  type  —  the 
lowest  kind  of  negro  —  and  Joe-Lu's  people,  his 
mother's  people,  must  have  come  from  the  moun- 
tains of  Abyssinia.  The  difference  between  them 
never  showed  so  plainly  as  to-night,  when  Joe-Lu 
stood  there  looking  down  upon  them  lying  at  his 
feet.  In  his  attitude  there  was  an  unconscious  air 


EACH    IN    HIS    OWN    WAY 


99 


of  pride  and  disdain  —  yet  in  the  look  that  he  bent 
upon  them  there  was  pity,  too. 

Like  the  lonely  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will  the 
sound  of  their  singing  echoes  within  me.  "Nebber 
git  back  no  mo'!"  The  words  are  nothing  —  worse 
than  nothing!  But  as  they  sang  them  there  was 
something  penetratingly  mournful  and  tragic  in 
them. 


•is)  7 

k 

•  ' 

~    £  1 

3 

—  N-NJ—  • 

3& 

1  9   9-^-  

!I  crosses  de  ribber,  an*  what  do  I  see?    Nebber  git  back  no 


mo'! 


De  debbil  he's  a-waitin'  dere  fo'  me!    Nebber  git  back  no 


mo'! 


My  sister  pray  fo'  me!    Nebber  git  back  no  mo'! 
My  mother  hoi'  me  fas' !    Nebber  git  back  no  mo* ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 
PAP  BAKER'S  HOUN'  PUP 

DANNY  DRISCOLL  and  Farrell  Mont- 
gomery and  all  of  their  crowd  follow 
around  after  Himey,  and  seem  to  think 
his  funny  speeches  the  smartest  and  wittiest  things 
ever  said.  Of  course  they  know  all  about  the  "bill- 
of-sale,"  and  the  "oxens  and  cow-critters,"  and 
"that  there  Ury  Dowton!" 

"I  dunno!"  Himey  says.  "I  reckon  he  played  me 
for  a  sucker,  —  and  I  was  just  fool  enough  to 
swaller  the  bait,  hook  and  all!  I  been  askin'  every- 
body that's  ever  been  down  by  Sibley,  if  they  knows 
of  them  Dowtons,  and  they  ain't  nobody  never 
hearn  tell  of  'em!  It  looks  to  me  like  I  done  made 
somebody  a  present  of  that  there  boat!" 

The  boys  go  over  the  story  —  adding  some  new 
details  of  their  own  invention  —  whenever  they 
can  find  a  new  listener;  and  Hiram  undoes  his  old 
wallet,  and  exhibits  "the  very  identical  bill-of-sale," 
to  make  the  tale  more  poignantly  appealing.  Hiram 
was  undoubtedly  born  to  be  a  stage-player,  only 


PAP.BAKER'S    HOUN'    PUP        101 

somehow  he  missed  his  vocation.  The  mock- 
pathetic  look  on  his  face,  as  he  unwinds,  and 
unwinds,  and  unwinds  the  purposely  long  string 
that  holds  the  pocketbook  together,  invariably  sends 
the  bystanders  off  into  spasms  of  laughter. 

It  is  all  right  for  them  to  laugh  and  make  a  joke 
of  it,  —  but  "w'at  if  dere  be  no  Dowtons,  no  farm, 
no  oxens  and  cow-critters?  Dat  not  be  so  funny? 
Eh?" 

Kit  Carson  is  hah*  afraid  that  there  is  really  some- 
thing wrong  about  the  transaction,  and  he  has 
offered  to  leave  the  boat  at  Sibley  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, with  Hiram,  —  "to  go  on  the  trail  of  the 
Dowtons!"  If  they  find  the  "critters,"  as  we 
are  hoping  they  will  do,  they  will  drive  them 
across  country,  and  join  us  at  Westport  —  either 
Wednesday  or  Thursday. 

Each  season,  the  "Trapper"  —  this  boat  of  ours  — 
goes  up  the  Missouri  river,  well  into  the  Yellowstone 
district,  carrying  beads  and  kettles,  and  bright  cali- 
coes and  blankets  —  all  the  things  that  the  Indians 
desire;  and  it  comes  back,  loaded  heavy  as  it  can 
carry,  with  furs  from  the  Northwest  —  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars'  worth.  But  while  the 
"Trapper"  was  built  especially  for  this  trade,  it  also 
has  accommodations  for  seventy  passengers,  and 


102     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

the  Captain  is  not  averse  to  increasing  his  revenues 
by  so  much  as  their  passage  money  amounts  to. 
But  the  boat  is  now  over-crowded,  and  Captain 
Chouteau  is  getting  cross  because  he  cannot  make 
his  usual  quick  time. 

And  day  before  yesterday  we  had  three  more 
passengers  added  to  our  number  —  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Drown  and  Mrs.  Yeats,  relatives  of  the  chief  clerk. 

Since  they  came  aboard  I  do  not  see  as  much  of 
Anna  as  I  did.  She  prefers  to  sit  in  the  cabin  with 
the  ladies,  and  sew  on  her  quilt,  rather  than  to  walk 
the  sunny  deck  with  me  —  though  that  would  be 
much  better  for  her,  I  am  sure.  It  is  perfectly 
ridiculous  for  her  to  give  herself  such  elderly  ma- 
tronly airs.  She  is  only  just  out  of  her  teens,  — 
and  one  would  think  her  thirty-five!  I  am  going 
to  make  her  an  old-lady's  cap,  and  tie  it  Bunder  her 
dimpled  chin,  if  she  persists  in  acting  so  very 
much  grown-up. 

Anna  has  her  friends,  —  John  has  his,  —  and  my 
nose  is  out-of -joint.  I  miss  my  sisters  —  I  am  not 
used  to  doing  without  them.  I  would  be  really 
lonely  and  forlorn  if  it  were  not  for  "Uncle  Pliny." 
He  looks  after  me  and  sees  that  I  am  properly 
amused.  He  is  the  very  nicest  old  man  —  a  favor- 
ite with  the  Captain  and  the  Pilot;  and  they  let  us 
sit  up  on  the  deck,  out  in  front  of  the  pilot-house, 


PAP  BAKER'S  HOUN'  PUP   103 

where  the  passengers  do  not  dare  to  go  without  a 
special  invitation. 

Uncle  Pliny  goes  out  West  every  season,  and  he 
knows  all  there  is  to  know  about  the  plains,  —  and 
about  this  treacherous  old  Missouri  river  too. 

Every  bend  in  the  crooked  stream  has  its  own 
tragic  tale  of  wreck  and  death.  To-day  we  passed 
the  place  where  the  "Astoria,"  with  six  thousand 
dollars  in  Mexican  bullion  aboard,  was  wrecked 
and  plundered  by  river  desperadoes.  She  sank 
without  turning  over,  and  her  smoke-stacks  still 
are  standing  up  out  of  the  water,  apparently  as  good 
as  ever.  Uncle  Pliny  said: 

"A  body  would  shorely  think  that  it  would  pay 
them  to  hist  her  up  out'n  the  hole  where  she  sank, 
but  they  say  it's  cheaper  to  build  a  new  boat! 

"It  was  at  Massie's  Wood-yard,  only  last  month," 
he  continued,  "that  the  'Elk'  bio  wed  all  to  splinters, 
so's  they  never  found  a  single  one  of  her  crew,  nor 
hardly  a  scrap  of  wood  or  iron  to  show  that  there 
had  ever  been  sech  a  boat.  These  steamboats, 
seems  like,  ain't  expected  to  last  more'n  'bout  five 
seasons.  Before  that  time  they  bust  their  bilers 
and  blow  up,  or  they  strikes  a  snag  and  goes  down! 
It's  a  mighty  ticklish  piece  of  business  to  navigate 
this  here  stream.  An'  right  here  at  Hound's  Pint 
is  about  as  bad  a  place  as  they  is.  You  see  that  thar 


104     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

long  pint  of  land  —  wall,  the  story  goes  that  ol'  pap 
Baker,  when  he  used  to  live  thar,  had  a  houn'  pup, 
—  an'  that  pup  never  stopped  his  barkin',  night  or 
day,  as  long  as  he  could  hear  the  steamboats'  en- 
gines a-puffin.  They's  a  sand-bar,  over  this-a-way, 
and  a  bunch  of  ugly  'sawyers'  acrost  thar,  —  a  right 
puzzlesome  channel  it  is  to  f oiler!  In  daytime  the 
pilots  sights  by  that  row  of  ellum  trees;  but  at  night 
they  all  made  a  practise  of  pintin'  the  boat's  nose 
'cordin'  to  that  pup's  barkin' !  An'  one  time  it  hap- 
pened so  as  Lizbeth  Baker  went  aross  to  the  Wilsons* 
to  borry  a  coal  of  fire,  an'  she  took  the  pup  with  her, 
bein'  as  it  were  dark  an'  lonesome,  —  an'  of  course 
the  pilot  of  the  'Chian,'  a-comin'  up-river,  couldn't 
be  expected  to  know  'bout  that,  an'  when  he  heard 
the  pup  a-barkin',  he  turned  in  to  the  right,  as 
usual  —  not  guessin'  that  the  dawg  was  a  half-mile 
down-river  —  an'  he  run  the  boat  jam  into  the 
bank!  An'  she  had  to  stay  thar  till  the  'latan' 
came  along  and  pulled  her  off  agin! 

"I  don't  hardly  ever  take  this  trip  that  I  don't 
hear  of  some  accident,  like  what  happened  to  you- 
alls  on  the  'Oceana'  —  Kit  Carson,  he  give  me  the 
full  particulars  of  that  thar  trouble.  But  somehow 
I  never  think  that  any  of  them  things  is  goin'  to 
happen  to  me  —  special  when  I  chances  to  catch 
one  of  the  Chouteau  boats.  Pierre  Chouteau  is 


PAP    BAKER'S    HOUN'    PUP        105 

'bout  as  careful  a  Captain  as  they  is  on  the  river. 
He's  counted  the  cleverest  of  all  the  Chouteaus  — 
not  but  what  they're  all  of  'em  smart  enough,  the 
whole  kit-an'-caboodle  of  'em!  They  is  a  heap  of 
'em.  The  West  is  fair  peppered  with  the  Chouteau 
Tradin'  Posts.  They  all  hangs  together,  an'  keeps 
the  trade  in  their  own  hands,  —  an'  keeps  the  other 
fellers  out!  Not  that  I'm  a-blamin'  them!  We  are  all 
of  us  chasin'  the  nimble  penny,  —  only  some  of  us  is 
too  stiff  in  our  jints  to  make  much  of  an  out  at  it!" 

Some  nice  folks  would  think  Uncle  Pliny  quite 
shocking,  I  suppose.  He  is  not  what  could  be 
called  clean.  His  hands  are  grimy,  his  waistcoat 
is  greasy,  and  he  always  gets  it  fastened  crooked, 
and  the  top  button  is  a  nail!  He  was  "borned  and 
raised  that-a-way,"  and  he  couldn't  be  himself 
and  be  any  different  from  what  he  is  —  and  I  like 
him!  He  is  a  Tennesseean,  from  way  up  in  the 
mountains,  and  he  has  the  mountaineers'  quaint 
drawling  way  of  speech.  In  the  tone  of  his  voice 
there  is  something  soft  and  musical,  —  something 
conciliatory,  ingratiating,  and  altogether  kindly.  I 
love  to  hear  him  talk.  The  world  seems  a  nicer 
place  to  live  in,  when  he  is  near. 

He  has  had  his  troubles,  too,  but  he  laughs  at 
them. 

"It  is  a  sure-enough  fact  that  I  always  gets  my 


106     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

full  sheer  of  what  bad  luck  they  is  a-goin'!  I  ain't 
never  been  wrecked  on  the  river,  but  I  had  my 
grocery  store  at  Malvern  Corners  burned,  and  struck 
by  lightnin'.  And  the  fust  time  I  went  to  Santa  Fe 
I  was  lost  on  the  Cimarron  Plain,  an'  nigh-about 
starved  —  had  to  live  on  grasshoppers,  with  only 
two  spoonfuls  of  flour  a  day,  fur  I  never  did  know 
how  long!  I  done  had  my  oxens  die,  an'  my  wagons 
busted,  an'  my  goods  confisticated,  —  fust  one  thing 
an'  then  another.  But,  law  me !  I  don't  know  any- 
body that  could  stand  it  better'n  me!  Loretty  — 
she's  the  youngest  of  my  two  darters  —  she  says, 
*  Uncle  Pliny,'  says  she,  *y°u  g°t  your  health,  an' 
'nough  to  eat,  an'  thar's  Sarah,  an'  you  know  you're 
welcome  to  go  an'  live  with  her,  an'  here's  me  an' 
the  babies,  jest  a-waitin'  for  the  time  when  you'll 
be  content  to  quit  a-roamin'  an'  settle  down  here 
to  home  with  us.'  An'  I  jest  tells  her,  'Uh-huh!' 
An'  I  ain't  never  let  her  know  that  every  time  I  go 
away,  I'm  a-hopin'  that  my  luck  will  change,  so's 
I  can  take  back  enough  money  to  put  an  ell  on  the 
house,  an'  git  her  a  new  loom  (her  ma's  loom  has 
seen  its  best  days)  —  an'  I'd  like  to  git  one  of  them 
big  store  rockers,  for  'grandpap'  to  set  in,  an'  fur 
them  babies  of  her'n  to  clamber  over! 

"I  reckon  I'll  come  to  the  streak  of  fat  in  my 
bacon,  yit,  some  of  these  days!    But  if  I  don't  — 


PAP    BAKER'S    HOUN'    PUP        107 

why,  I  ain't  goin'  to  complain!     I  got  too  many 
blessin's  fur  that!" 

Uncle  Pliny  tells  me  that  the  Fremont  party  do 
not  intend  to  disembark  at  Independence  Landing, 
but  will  continue  on  the  "Trapper"  till  they  reach  the 
mouth  of  the  Kaw  river,  where  they  will  be  met  by 
Francis  and  Cyprian  Chouteau. 

John  is  ill,  dreadfully  ill,  I  fear!  I  am  afraid  that 
mother  will  think  I  have  not  been  sufficiently  watch- 
ful and  careful  of  his  health.  Now  they  are  saying 
that  we  should  not  have  allowed  him  to  breathe 
the  night  air,  frail  as  he  is.  And  only  yesterday 
they  were  encouraging  me  to  let  him  "rough  it" 
with  the  other  men!  How  can  I  tell  what  is  best 
to  do? 

Uncle  Pliny  has  taken  him  in  charge,  and  is  giving 
him  somebody's  "Sure  Cure  for  Ague."  He  says 
that  John  will  be  on  his  feet,  "and  sassy  as  ever," 
in  two  or  three  days. 

"This  here  river  malary  is  pretty  apt  to  git  a-holt 
of  strangers,  unless'n  they  takes  somethin'  strong 
to  keep  it  out  of  their  systems,  but  the  fust  touch 
ain't  like  to  'mount  to  anythin'  more  than  jest  an 
unconvenience  —  nothin'  serious,  an'  before  time 
for  the  next  spell  he'll  be  where  they  ain't  no  sech 
thing  as  malary." 


108      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

I  have  been  reading  my  Chapter  for  the  night. 
Sometimes  I  forget  it,  or  neglect  it,  —  but  not 
to-night!  Every  word  I  read  was  comforting.  I 

.  could  hear  my  Heavenly  Father's  voice  saying, 
"Sleep  in  peace,  my  child!  No  harm  shall  befall 

'thee!    All  will  be  well." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  EXTREMES!  EDGE  OF  CIVILIZATION 

MOST  of  the  "Trapper's"  passengers  disem- 
barked at  Gaines's  Mill,  near  Independ- 
ence, but  our  party  went  on  with  Fremont 
as  far  as  Chouteau's  Landing,  and  so  we  saw  the 
other  two   Chouteaus   who  had  come  down  from 
their    trading    post    to    welcome    the    Expedition. 
They   are   undeniably  French,  —  with   perhaps   an 
admixture  of  Indian  blood:     if  it   were    so,   they 
would  not  be  ashamed  of  it. 

They  are  polite,  as  Frenchmen  never  forget  to  be, 
in  the  presence  of  ladies,  but  they  looked  like  pirates 
and  cut-throats!  I  could  not  help  humming,  under 
my  breath, 

"Oh,  my  name  was  Captain  Kidd,  as  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed! 
And  so  wickedly  I  did,  as  I  sailed!" 

Cyprian  Chouteau,  himself,  rowed  us  across  the 
Missouri,  to  the  south  bank,  where  we  found  a  boy 
with  a  crazy  rattletrap  of  a  wagon  waiting  to  take 
possible  passengers  down  to  Westport,  five  miles 
away. 


110     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  road  was  bad  as  a  road  could  be.  It  was  up- 
hill and  down-dale,  through  boggy,  miry,  yellow  clay, 
through  thickets  of  paw-paws,  and  twisted  grape- 
vines; but  we  came  out,  at  last,  upon  a  fair  straight 
track  all  shaded  by  oak  and  elm  and  walnut  trees, 
through  whose  branches  we  had  our  first  glimpse 
of  Westport  —  a  more  cityfied  place  than  I  had 
expected  to  see.  There  were  some  dwellings  of 
brick  and  stone,  and  there  is  a  big  hotel,  and  several 
small  factories,  and  a  dozen  or  more  store-buildings. 

Just  as  our  boy,  "Sethy,"  pointed  it  out,  I  saw 
the  sign  that  I  had  been  looking  for  —  "Newell, 
Gentry,  and  Newell,"  but  we  could  not  persuade 
Sethy  to  take  us  there. 

"No  sir!  —  I  ain't  goin'  to  get  into  that  crowd! 
'F  I  got  into  that  jam  of  wagins  I  wouldn't  get  out 
till  dark!  The  teamsters  to  them  big  freighters 
don't  care  nothin'  'bout  what  gets  in  their  way! 
I'm  goin'  to  take  you-alls  straight's  ever  I  kin  to 
Miss  Ne well's." 

But  the  way  was  not  so  very  "straight!"  It  was 
turn  and  turn  to  let  this  string  of  ponies  pass,  and 
for  that  crowd  of  roysterers  to  go  by. 

Our  loquacious  little  driver  did  not  wait  for  us  to 
question  him;  he  went  right  on  explaining  every- 
thing in  sight. 

"Them    shave-head    Indians    is    Kaws,  —  them 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION        111 

over  thar  with  the  short-cut  hair  and  shirts  is 
Shawnees,  and  they  farms  just  like  white-folks. 
Them  with  the  red  rags  on  their  braids  is  Kickapoos 
and  Ottawas;  and  them  tallest  ones,  with  the  paint 
on  their  faces,  is  Siouxs!" 

The  Indians,  wild-looking  as  they  were,  were  not 
any  wilder  than  the  rest  of  the  crowd.  There  were 
black  and  greasy  Mexicans,  and  negroes  of  every 
possible  mixture,  and  Texans,  and  Yankees,  and 
Germans,  and  Canadians,  and  Kentuckians  —  all 
jabbering  in  their  dozen  different  languages  — 
eking  out  the  inadequacies  of  speech  with  eloquent 
and  expressive  gesticulation! 

There  were  so  many  things  to  see  —  pedlers  and 
auctioneers,  dog-fights,  and  bouts  at  fisticuffs  among 
some  of  the  men,  —  it  is  small  wonder  that  Auguste 
and  Franchy  and  Joe-Lu  were  lured  away  from  us, 
one  by  one.  Of  all  our  company  there  was  only 
big  Rob  left  as  escort,  when  Sethy  pulled  up  at 
"Miss  Newell's"  gate. 

She  saw  us,  and  guessed  who  we  were,  and  came 
running  down  the  front  walk  to  welcome  us.  My 
impression  is  that  she  took  us  all  into  her  arms  at 
once  —  John  and  Anna  and  me  —  and  that  she 
had  a  hand  to  spare  to  Rob,  besides!  She  is  only  a 
tiny  bit  of  a  body,  so  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  how 
she  managed  it. 


112     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

It  was  only  a  minute  till  she  had  John  seated  in  a 
rocking-chair,  with  a  cushion  at  his  back,  and  a 
hassock  under  his  feet. 

"Eh,  the  puir  laddie!  He's  the  bonnie  laddie, 
an*  bigger  than  I  had  thocht  him  frae  the  Deacon's 
talk,  —  a-maist  a  man,  on'y  he's  fair  wearied  oot  wi* 
the  lang  journey,  or  mayhap  it's  the  sickness  —  he's 
a  touch  o'  the  fever,  I  see.  Indeed,  yes,  the  Deacon 
tell't  me  as  how  he  wouldna  be  exactly  strong,  so  I 
have  the  good  broth  ready  for  the  hettin'-up,  wait- 
ing for  him,  for  the  past  twa  or  three  days.  We 
couldna  tell  juist  the  day  ye'd  be  here,  ye  ken." 

As  she, was  talking,  she  set  out  on  the  little  stand- 
table  the  chicken-broth,  that  had  been  "netted  up," 
a  bowl  of  cream,  and  a  section  of  dried  pumpkin 
pie;  and  under  coaxing  the  "puir  laddie"  ate  it  all! 
And  she  made  him  lie  down  and  "nap  a  bit,"  mo- 
tioning Anna  and  me  out  to  the  porch,  where  we  sat 
in  dear  delicious  quiet  —  a  quiet  broken  by  only 
the  gentlest  murmur  of  gossip. 

Sethy  had  been  sent  after  Deacon  Gentry,  to  tell 
him  that  we  had  arrived,  but  the  Deacon  was  over 
to  the  tent-city,  south  of  the  town  —  a  temporary 
market-place  where  the  farmers,  from  a  hundred 
miles  around,  gathered  to  dispose  of  their  mules 
and  oxen  and  tierces  of  salt  bacon  and  other  prov- 
ender, to  the  out-going  caravans. 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION        113 

It  was  an  hour  or  more  before  we  saw  him  striding 
up  the  street,  and  by  that  time  John  had  wakened 
from  his  nap,  and  was  ready  to  declare  that  he  did 
not  know  what  fever  and  sickness  were. 

Deacon  Gentry  had  always  been  fondest  of  John, 
even  when  George  was  alive,  and  now,  when  he 
came  in,  he  could  only  see  "the  boy  —  the  dear 
lad!"  He  had  his  arm  around  John's  shoulders, 
and  they  were  walking  up  and  down  the  gallery, 
eagerly  talking,  when  Aunt  Jeannie  put  her  small 
foot  down.  She  sent  John  back  to  his  couch  again, 
and  bade  the  Deacon  take  "Miss  Deya"  down  to 
the  store. 

"She'll  be  wantin'  to  see  the  wagins,  an'  the  gear 
ye  hae  purchased  for  her  an'  the  laddie.  An' 
Tammas,  he'll  be  wantin'  to  make  his  boo  to  her! 
An'  ye're  to  bring  him  up  to  supper,  an'  a'  the  ither 
folk,  that  come  wi'  the  lad  an'  lassie!  Mistress 
Hubbard,  here,  will  be  helpin'  me  wi'  the  bit  supper, 
—  sae  gae  alang  wi'  ye,  an'  remember  not  to  stay 
too  lang  at  the  store!" 

Deacon  Gentry  has  boarded  with  the  Newells 
ever  since  he  came  West,  —  as  was  natural  enough, 
they  being  Presbyterians,  and  the  taverns  such 
ungodly  riotous  places,  as  they  are  sure  to  be,  so 
far  out  West.  There  is  quite  a  little  settlement  of 
Scotch  Presbyterians  here,  all  kinsfolk  or  at  least 


114     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"neebors"  back  in  the  "auld  country."  They 
came  out  together  from  Scotland  to  Kentucky,  and 
emigrated  from  there  to  Westport,  when  they  heard 
of  the  fortunes  that  were  being  made  in  the  Santa 
Fe  trade. 

Had  the  Deacon  not  fallen  in  with  them  I  do  not 
think  he  would  have  remained  here,  even  though 
there  was  the  chance  to  "double  and  thribble  his 
money,"  as  Hiram  phrased  it. 

As  we  were  going  down  to  the  store,  Deacon 
Gentry  and  I,  he  left  it  to  me  to  furnish  the  topics 
of  conversation,  and  I  puzzled  my  brains  for  news 
that  I  thought  would  be  interesting  to  him:  —  there 
was  the  sale  of  his  old  farm  to  Adalbert  Jennings; 
the  marriage  of  Harriet,  his  niece,  to  Uncle  Asaph's 
son;  the  moving  away  of  some  of  his  friends,  and 
the  coming  of  several  new  families  who  are  doing 
great  things  in  the  way  of  improving  the  town  and 
country  around  Dixon;  and  I  told  him  all  about 
father's  re-election,  and  some  of  the  important 
things  that  the  Whig  party  hoped  to  effect  in  the 
national  Congress,  —  as  father  had  told  it  to  me. 

We  reached  the  store  before  I  had  time  to  observe 
what  it  really  did  look  like  on  the  outside.  We 
went  in  at  the  big  gate  that  gives  admittance  to 
the  stockade  at  the  rear  of  the  store.  Here  were 
dozens  of  the  great  Conestoga  freighting  wagons, 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION        115 

most  of  them  already  packed  full  of  goods,  ready 
to  roll  out  through  the  gate  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Twenty  bore  the  name,  "Newell,  Gentry,  and 
Newell,"  but  four  were  labeled  with  a  specially  sig- 
nificant name  —  "Randall  and  Randall"!  And  the 
Deacon  helped  me  to  climb  up  into  one  of  them, 
and  he  explained  what  the  load  consisted  of,  and 
what  percentage  of  profit  we  might  expect  from  each 
class  of  goods,  —  silks,  and  fancy  cottons,  and  fine 
hardware,  one  hundred  percent,  even  two  hundred, 
perhaps,  after  all  expenses  are  paid!  To  talk  of 
profits  like  this  engenders  a  commercial  fever  in 
the  blood  of  the  most  careless. 

The  Deacon  was  eloquent  upon  the  subject  as  he 
took  me  around  through  the  store,  and  showed  me 
the  big  stock  they  carry.  They  have  everything 
that  one  could  think  of  —  concertinas,  lace-mantil- 
las, bacon,  hair  combs,  molasses,  powder,  calicoes, 
flour,  domestics,  tomahawks,  silks,  and  squaw  axes, 
kettles  and  looking-glasses  and  bear's  grease,  etc., 
etc.  —  everything  in  wholesale  quantities,  enough 
to  fit  out  hundreds  of  wagons,  a  half-a-dozen 
caravans,  complete. 

They  furnish  not  only  the  stocks  of  goods  to  their 
customers  but  also  the  wagons  and  teams,  and  the 
men  that  are  needed.  Sometimes  they  wait  for 
their  pay  till  the  return  of  the  caravan  from  Santa 


116     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Fe;  and  Uncle  Tammas  says  that  in  seven  years  of 
the  trading-business  he  has  not  lost  a  thousand 
dollars. 

"Maybe  they're  no  what  ye'd  ca'  ower  scrupulous 
in  the  way  of  pickin'  up  what's  lyin'  aroun'  loose,  — 
but  I've  found  nane  o'  them  sae  dishonest  as  to  rob 
the  mon  wha  trusts  them  wi'  his  purse,  or  a  bill  o* 
goods.  They're  kittle  cattle,  these  men  o'  the 
West!  Ye  can't  tell  what  for  a  notion  they'll  take 
into  their  heads!  They  swear  by  the  Deacon,  an' 
I'd  no  be  able  to  tell  ye  edzactly  why-for!  The 
Deacon's  a  douce  canny  mon,  but  he's  nane  sae 
easy!  He  holds  them  a'  to  the  mark  uncommon 
tight;  an'  he  has,  beside,  crankous  crotchets  aboot 
spiritous  liquors,  an'  such  like.  Noo,  I  differ  wi' 
him,  there!  I'm  as  good  a  Presbyterian  as  onybody, 
but  for  a'  that,  I  maintain  that  a  wee  bit  drap  o' 
John  Barleycorn's  brew  is  good  for  a  mon  —  at  regu- 
lar times,  ye  onderstand!  A  reasonable  mon  knows 
when  to  take  it,  an'  when  to  leave  it  alone.  The 
puir  fools  wha  let  their  drams  go  to  their  heads 
—  let  their  troubles  be  on  their  own  shoulthers !  A 
mon  wi'  a  conscience  an'  will  of  his  own,  needs  not 
to  be  harried  because  of  their  fulishness." 

In  spite  of  these  heretical  notions  of  Uncle  Tam- 
mas's,  he  and  the  Deacon  are  warmly  attached  to 
each  other.  Uncle  Tammas  is  fine  —  like  a  gnarly 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION        117 

old  oak  tree,  rugged,  big- jointed,  and  strong.  He 
wears  his  shirt  open  almost  to  the  waist,  exposing 
his  broad  hairy  chest.  His  shirt-sleeves  are  rolled 
to  the  shoulder,  showing  the  hard  knotted  muscles 
of  his  arms.  His  "trowsies"  are  cut  short,  so  one 
can  see  the  blue  wool  socks,  and  an  inch  or  two  of 
brown  leg  above  that!  I  am  sure  he  must  have  worn 
the  "kilties"  in  Scotland,  and  so  does  not  think 
anything  of  this  display  of  bare  leg.  But  not- 
withstanding these  little  peculiarities  of  his  attire, 
he  is,  unmistakably,  a  person  of  consequence  and 
dignity. 

When  the  Deacon  and  Uncle  Tammas  and  I  ar- 
rived again  at  the  "hoose"  we  found  the  boys, 
Auguste  and  Franchy  and  Joe-Lu  and  Rob,  there 
waiting  for  us  on  the  front  porch. 

Supper  was  spread  on  the  long  table  in  the  open 
place  between  the  two  main  portions  of  the  building. 
As  we  seated  ourselves,  Aunt  Jeannie  began  to 
apologize  for  her  poor  and  scanty  fare,  —  as  good 
housewives  are  sure  to  do,  —  and  then  she  pro- 
ceeded to  bring  in  platter  after  platter,  and  dish 
after  dish,  all  full  of  all  sorts  of  good  things  to  eat! 
I  am  going  to  put  it  down  here  so  as  to  have  it  to 
remember.  Chicken,  corned-beef,  and  fish;  pota- 
toes, yams,  and  okra;  white  bread,  corn-pone,  and 


118     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

biscuits;  plum- jell,  persimmon  preserves,  and  sweet 
watermelon-pickles;  pumpkin-pie  —  yes,  and  I  must 
not  forget  the  "haggis,"  though  I  did  not  eat  any 
of  it!  Rob  ate  my  share,  and  his  besides.  "Never 
was  a  MacLeod  as  could  pass  a  haggis  by!"  he 
said. 

Aunt  Jeannie  caught  the  name  "MacLeod,"  and 
she  almost  let  the  precious  "haggis"  go  smash! 
"Dinnot  tell  me  thot  yere  name's  MacLeod!  —  the 
MacLeods  of  Ayr!  Ye  favors  them  mightily. 
Not  the  'black  MacLeods'  but  the  fair-haired  ones. 
They  ithers  have  the  black  sour  blood  in  them,  but 
the  tow-heads  are  aye  the  bonny  good-tempered 
lot;  an'  the  men,  mostly  giants,  ye  ken,  —  an'  the 
women  scranny  an'  little.  Yes,  yes,  so  'twas  —  I 
know  them  weel,  as  weel  I  may,  —  my  mither's  third 
mon  bein'  ane  of  them.  An'  by  the  same  token, 
if  yere  not  Hamish  Macleod's  son!  My  ain  half- 
brither's  son!  Ye've  the  vary  look  of  him,  —  that 
mornin'  when  he  went  off  to  Glasgow,  on  his  way 
to  America.  An'  we  heard  no  more  o'  him!  I 
mind  that  mornin'  as  if  'twas  yesterday !  An' 
ye've  the  vary  look  of  him!  I'm  a  puir  doddert 
blind  body  or  I  would  hae  known  ye,  soon  as  I  set 
eyes  on  ye!" 

And  then  there  came  a  rapid-fire  of  questions,  — 
and  Rob  knew  all  about  the  family  tree,  and  they 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION        119 

traced  it  together,  branch  by  branch,  out  into  its 
remotest  branchlets!  And  Aunt  Jeannie  was  so 
excited  that  she  forgot  to  get  our  bedroom  candles, 
till  Uncle  Tammas  nudged  her  by  way  of  reminder. 

"Bless  us  a'!  I'm  that  near  daft,  wi'  the  joy  o* 
seein'  my  ain  nephew  —  for  he's  maist  the  same  as 
that!  A'  the  folk  that  came  wi'  us  frae  Scotland  is 
kin  to  yer  Uncle  Tammas,  but  no  related  by  the 
blood  to  me,  —  save  only  cousin  Mary  Berryman, 
out  at  the  Shawnee  Mission,  an'  she  is  distant,  vary 
distant,  but  she  is  kin,  an'  thot  is  somethin'  to  be 
thankfu'  for!" 

As  Anna  and  I  were  dropping  off  to  sleep  we  could 
still  hear  Aunt  Jeannie  and  Rob  discussing  the 
wanderings  and  transplantings  of  the  "family  of 
the  MacLeod."' 

In  the  morning  we  overslept  ourselves,  so  Aunt 
Jeannie  had  to  come  and  call  us. 

"Na,  na!  Juist  ye  keep  on  yere  pretty  double- 
gowns,  an'  sit  up  to  the  table,  —  tak  comfort  while 
ye  can!  There's  nae  ane  here  at  a'  but  me  an' 
John.  Ye  ought  to  see  the  laddie  the  morn!  He 
was  up  the  earliest  ane  of  a',  an'  he  had  his  breakfast 
wi'  the  men,  lang  syne." 

But  we  had  to  scurry  away  from  the  table,  and 
dress  ourselves  properly,  for  a  half-dozen  of  the 


120     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"neebors"  called  to  pay  their  respects  to  Aunt 
Jeannie's  company.  I  think  that  John  must  have 
been  out  visiting  round,  for  everyone  seemed  to 
know  all  about  us,  —  and  about  the  new  nephew. 

There  was  someone  "rinnin'  oot  an*  in"  all  the 
day  long,  and  at  candle-lighting  time  the  house  was 
full  of  guests.  We  were  friends  from  the  start,  — 
frankly  interested  in  each  other. 

It  is  nine  years  since  they  left  the  old  country, 
and  it  is  a  matter  of  pride  with  them  that  they 
"speak  the  English,  pairfectly!"  —  yet  their  tongues 
slip  into  the  old  way  of  speech  when 'they  are  not 
aware  of  it.  It  sounds  sweet  to  my  ear,  for  it  is 
the  language  of  Scott  and  Burns! 

The  first  song  I  remember  is  the  lullaby  song  that 
mother  used  to  sing  at  bedtime  —  "Flow  gently, 
sweet  Afton,  amang  thy  green  braes."  The  first 
"piece"  that  I  ever  spoke  in  school  was  the  "Address 
to  a  Daisy"  —  "Wee  modest  crimson-tipped  flower." 
The  first  book  I  ever  bought  for  myself  was  Scott's 
"Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border."  So  it  is  that 
the  language  I  hear  at  the  Newell's  is  not  strange  to 
me.  It  gives  a  distinct  flavor  of  romance  to  the 
most  prosaic  conversation,  —  only  their  conversa- 
tion is  never  just  prosaic.  Aunt  Jeannie  has  told 
us  of  her  childhood  days  on  the  stormy  coasts  of 
Ayr;  and  Uncle  Tammas  delights  us  with  anecdotes 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION 

of  "Sir  Walter."  He  can  quote  his  works,  and 
especially  his  shorter  ballads,  by  the  page. 

"Aye,  I  thocht  ye  would  be  knowin'  aboot  his 
poetry!  We  was  neebors  to  him,  as  ane  might  say 
—  twal  mile  across  moor  an'  mountain,  —  but  he 
made  naething  o'  that!  'Twas  not  sae  seldom  that 
he  would  stop  by  for  a  bit  o'  chat.  We  were  na 
rich  folk,  ye  understand,  —  we  had  oor  sheilin'  an' 
a  coo,  an'  that  was  a';  but  he  were  na  the  ane  to 
be  thinkin'  aboot  rich  an'  poor,  or  anything  like 
thot! 

"It  were  maistly  grannie  that  he  come  to  see. 
She  knew  a-many  o'  the  auld  witch  an'  warlock 
tales,  an'  she  could  hum  the  tune  to  mony  a  choice 
old  ballad,  an'  Sir  Walter  would  write  it  doon,  an' 
say  thanks  for  her  trouble,  same  as  if  she  had  a  title 
tacked  to  the  before  o'  her  name!  It  is  them  that 
be  truly  great,  like  Sir  Walter,  that  is  the  maist 
consider't  an'  truly  friendly  wi'  them  that's  less 
than  their  selves.  'Tis  only  them  that  has  mair 
pride  than  sense,  that  wears  the  paughty  frown. 
They  needs  to,  ye  ken,  so  that  ordinar'  folk  may 
know  how  fine  an'  gran'  they  think  theirselves  to 
be!" 

Though  Uncle  Tammas  and  his  kin  were  humble 
folk  in  Scotland  they  have  so  prospered  in  this  new 
land  that  they  might  call  themselves  rich;  but  one 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

would  not  guess  it  from  their  garb,  which  is  quaintly 
uncouth.  The  women  wear  upon  their  feet  what 
are  sailed  "shoe-packs"  —  made  by  themselves 
from  soft  dressed  leather.  Their  "linsey-woolsey" 
petticoats  are  short  and  gathered  bunchily  around 
their  waists,  and  over  these  they  wear  short  loose 
sacques,  —  exactly  like  bed-gowns !  They  probably 
have  silk  gowns,  and  India-shawls,  and  "boughten 
shoon,"  all  laid  away  in  their  "kists,"  but  these 
would  be  "for  the  keepin'  an'  no  for  the  wearin'," 
as  Aunt  Jeannie  explained  to  us.  Though  their 
costumes  are  ungainly,  the  people  themselves  are 
positively  handsome,  —  they  are  so  clean,  through 
and  through,  so  fresh-looking,  and  so  wholesome 
and  kindly;  and  they  show  a  fine  intelligence  and 
natural  shrewdness  of  character. 

Last  night  the  men,  with  their  knives  and  "bit 
whittlin'-sticks,"  sat  at  one  end  of  the  front  porch, 
and  the  women  with  their  knitting  sat  at  the  other. 
John  and  I  were  half-way  between  the  two  groups, 
and  we  caught  disjointed  fragments  of  the  conver- 
sations, as  they  flowed  on  uninterruptedly  on  both 
sides  of  us  —  quilt-pieces  on  this  side,  the  Specie 
Circular  on  the  other;  pine-apple  stitch,  and  the 
United  States  Bank;  a  soap  recipe  matched  with 
a  long  dissertation  on  the  deportation  of  the  negro 
from  American  soil. 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION         123 

As  I  listened  to  the  men,  —  to  their  serious  dis- 
cussion of  our  national  affairs,  I  could  but  wish  that 
President  Tyler  might  have  advisers  as  clear-headed 
and  sensible  and  conscientious  as  are  these  canny 
Scotchmen. 

They  were  not  forgetting  their  own  affairs,  either. 
They  really  rejoiced  over  the  war  agitation. 

"It  will  bolster  up  the  prices,  an'  it's  mony  a  day 
before  they  twa  nations  will  be  ready  to  begin  the 
fightin',  an'  a'  that  time  the  sky  will  be  rainin' 
dollars,  an'  lucky  will  be  they  that  has  their  bit 
baskets  ready  for  to  pick  up  the  money  as  it 
fa's.  It  is  in  times  like  this  that  fortunes  is  to  be 
made." 

They  were  in  highest  spirits,  cracking  their  jokes, 
singing  songs,  and  reciting  verse  after  verse  of 
Bobby  Burns's  somewhat  naughty  poems  —  "Tarn 
o'  Shanter,"  "Holy  Fair,"  and  all. 

Boys  and  girls  passed  the  nuts  and  cider  and 
doughnuts  around  among  the  guests,  and  after  that 
the  younger  ones  played  games,  such  as  we  play 
at  home  —  "King  William"  and  "Miss  Jinnia 
Jones,"  —  and  the  older  folks  sang  their  old  Scotch 
ditties  —  "The  Campbells  are  Comin'!"  and  "Robin 
Tamson's  Smiddy. "  I  believe  I  will  put  the  song 
down  here,  as  they  say  they  do  not  think  the 
poem  has  ever  been  "in  print." 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 


Ranting  refrain 


~t 


"Last  Monday  night,  at  sax  o*clock,  to  Mirren  Gibbs  I  went, 

man, 
To  meet  wi'  some  old  cronies  there,  it  was  my  whole  intent, 

man. 
So  down  we  sat  and  pried  the  yill;  syne  I  pu'd  out  my  sneeshin* 

mill, 
And  took  a  pinch  wi*  right  gude  will,  o*  Beggar's  Brown,  the 

best  in  town, 
Then  sent  it  round  aboot  the  room,  to  gie  ilka  ane  a  scent, 

man. 

"Yi-den-derry.  yi-den-derry,  yi-den-derry,  yaw,  man. 
Yi-den-derry,  yi-den-derry,  yi-den-derry,  yaw,  man." 

A  ranting  tune,  with  a  nonsense  jingle  for  a  refrain! 
To  please  old  Grannie  Duncan,  Aunt  Jeannie 
sang  the  ballad  of  "The  Four  Maries."  I  knew  all 
the  story,  as  it  was  in  my  Scottish  Minstrelsy  book, 
but  I  had  never  heard  it  set  to  the  music. 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION 


125 


fid* 


!>    IS 


m 


"Last  night  the  Queen  had  four  Maries,  this  night  she'll  hae 

but  three; 

There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton,  and  Mary  Car- 
michael  and  me. 

*'O,  aften  hae  I  dressed  my  queen,  and  aften  made  her  bed: 
And  now  I've  gotten  for  my  reward,  the  gallows  tree  to  tread. 

*'I  charge  ye  all,  ye  mariners,  when  ye  sail  o'er  the  faem, 
Let  neither  my  feyther  or  mither  get  wit,  but  that  I  am  com- 
ing hame. 

*'O,  little  did  my  mither  think  when  first  she  cradled  me, 
That  I  would  dee  sae  far  frae  hame,  or  hang  on  a  gallows- 
tree. 

"  They'll  tie  a  napkin  aboot  my  een,  an*  they'll  no  let  me  see  to 

dee, 

An*  they'll  let  neither  my  feyther  or  mither  get  wit,  but  I'm 
awa  o'er  the  sea. 

Refrain: 
"Last  night  the  Queen  had  four  Maries,  this  night  she'll  hae 

but  three: 

There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton,  and  Mary  Car- 
michael  and  me." 

Hiram  has  been  here!  Before  we  saw  him  we 
heard  him  whistling,  —  his  loudest  liveliest  whistle, 
• —  and  the  tune  was ' '  Money-Musk  " !  A  good  augury ! 


126     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

A  moment  later  we  saw  him,  his  hands  stuck  in  his 
belt,  a  braggadocio  swagger  in  his  walk,  his  beaver 
cap  set  rakishly  askew,  with  its  tails  bobbing  gayly 
almost  in  his  eyes.  He  did  not  wait  for  us  to  ask 
questions. 

"Didn't  I  say,  all  the  time,  that  that  Ury  Dowton 
was  a  straight-out  honest  feller?  Your  Uncle 
Fuller  wasn't  born  yesterday!  And  his  brother  Oty 
is  one  of  the  finest  boys  I  ever  see!  He's  got  a  fine 
farm,  —  and  say,  them  'forty  head,  more  or  less/ 
turned  out  to  be  full  fifty  and  one  or  two  over! 
And  that  Oty  never  made  any  kind  of  a  fuss 
about  turning  of  'em  over,  and  he  come  with  us 
right  along  close  to  Westport,  to  help  with  the 
drivin'. 

"It  was  two  o'clock  when  we  come  to  the  yard, 
and  that  Iggy  Beauchemie  heard  us  and  unlocked 
the  gates,  and  let  us  in.  We  was  so  dead  tired, 
Kit  and  me,  that  we  tumbled  right  down  in  the  hay, 
and  slept  till  daybreak,  —  and  there  was  a  right 
lively  scrimmage  goin'  on,  and  shootin'  and  all, 
but  we  was  too  nigh  tuckered  out  to  even  go  and 
see  what  it  was  all  about. 

"The  Deacon's  been  a-figgerin'  up  what  all  I'll 
have  to  invest  in  goods,  and  it  is  a  great  start. 
They  are  stackin'  up  the  stuff  now,  and  loadin'  it 
into  the  wagins,  for  me  and  the  Boissieres  and  Rob. 


EDGE    OF    CIVILIZATION         127 

The  boys  is  mighty  puffed  up,  to  see  their  names 
chalked  out  big  on  all  them  boxes  and  bales! 

"And  the  Deacon  told  me  to  tell  you,  for  you 
folks  to  be  ready  to  start  right  away  —  the  kerridge 
will  be  here  for  you  most  any  minute." 

Sethy  Burroughs  came  tumbling  in,  a  minute  or 
so  ago,  with  the  most  astonishing  piece  of  news. 
"The  constable's  got  Iggy  Beauchemie  down  the 
well!"  There  is  an  old  dry  well  in  the  jail-yard, 
that  is  sometimes  used  as  a  cell  when  the  jail  is  full. 

"Tain't  real  dry,  that  well  ain't,  but  they  put 
Iggy  Beauchemie  down  there,  and  he's  cryin'  like 
to  bust!  They  do  say  that  he  shot  the  weddin'- 
groom  last  night  what  they  was  shivareein'  —  and 
he  says  he  never  done  it,  and  that  the  men  that 
came  in  last  night  knows  he  never,  neither,  for  he 
was  a  fodderin'  down  the  critters  for  'em  when  the 
shootin'  was  goin'  on.  And  that  other  one  has  gone 
on  out  to  the  Tradin*  Post,  and  the  Deacon  says 
that  Mr.  Hiram  are  to  come  down  to  the  jail-yard 
and  help  Iggy  out'n  his  trouble  —  and  out'n  the  well. 
That's  what  the  Deacon  says  —  for  you  to  come 
back  with  me!" 

On  account  of  this  affair,  the  Deacon's  wagons  will 
not  leave  the  town  till  after  dinner,  but  Aunt 
Jeannie,  and  Rob,  and  Anna,  and  John  and  I  are 


128     PILGRIMS    OF^THE    PLAINS 

going  put  a  little  way  along  the  Trail,  as  far  as  the 
Shawnee  Indian  Mission,  to  see  Cousin  Mary  Berry- 
man. 

"She'll  be  glad  to  see  any  friends  of  the  Deacon's, 
and  special  glad  to  see  Rob,  who  is,  as  ane  might 
say,  a  relative  —  seein'  he  is  so  near  kin  to  me!" 

I've  got  to  put  this  book  away,  this  minute!  We 
will  cross  the  Missouri  line,  and  be  out  on  the  plains 
within  an  hour! 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  SIGN  OF  THE  LONG  FAREWELL 

THIS  is  Saturday  night,  and  we  are  en- 
camped at  "Black  Jack,"  fifty-five  miles 
out  on  the  "Trail."  It  is  almost  three 
weeks  since  John  and  I  and  father  crossed  the 
ferry  at  Dixon,  —  and  now  the  real  journey  is  only 
just,  "as  ane  might  say,"  begun!  The  prologue  is 
ended.  The  curtain  is  rising  upon  the  drama.  The 
title?  "As  You  Like  It"?  "All's  Well  that  Ends 
Well"?  I  am  sure  it  will  not  be  "Love's  Labour's 
Lost" — for  John  is  getting  stronger  every  day, 
and  will  soon  be  well,  —  everybody  says  so. 

Aunt  Jeannie,  when  we  were  at  Westport,  plied 
him  with  broths  and  custards,  in  between  his  regular 
meals;  and  before  and  after  eating  she  gave  him 
half -glassful  doses  of  her  famous  "black-draught"; 
and  she  gave  me  a  quart  of  it,  to  bring  with  us,  and 
laid  it  upon  me  as  a  duty  that  I  am  to  see  that  he 
takes  it,  till  it  is  gone. 

He  is  saucy  and  prankish  and  mischievous,  as 
only  a  seventeen-year-old  boy  can  be,  and  Auguste 
and  Franchy  think  he  is  so  smart!  And  Deacon 


130     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Gentry  smiles  at  his  badness!  Some  day  when  I 
find  my  "little"  brother  rolled  up  tight  in  his 
blankets  I  am  going  to  take  my  slipper  to  him  to 
show  him  that  I  am  still  a  person  of  authority, 
in-so-far  as  he  is  concerned. 

The  wide  prairies  are  glorious!  The  wind  salutes 
us  with  a  sweet,  fresh  kiss  as  it  passes.  It  tosses 
straggling  locks  of  hair,  and  keeps  Anna's  lovely 
blue  veil  in  a  perpetual  state  of  flutter.  The  rank 
grasses  are  already  more  than  waist  high,  and  their 
slender  points  dip  and  sway  under  the  breath  of  the 
breeze,  till  all  of  the  surface  of  the  plain  breaks  into 
wavelets,  as  if  the  prairie  were  a  river  of  flowing 
water  vividly  and  glowingly  green. 

And  this  lovely  country  hasn't  even  a  name! 
On  the  maps  they  call  it  —  indefinitely  —  the 
Indian  Country;  and  people  when  they  write  of  it 
call  it  sometimes  "the  prairie  wilderness."  It  is 
not  a  wilderness!  And  as  for  its  being  an  Indian 
country  —  well  there  are  Indians,  and  Indians. 

The  Indians  here  have  their  schools  and  churches, 
and  good  farms  well  fenced,  and  gardens  and  or- 
chards and  civilized  homes.  At  Shawnee  Mission 
the  two  school-houses  are  really  imposing  structures, 
that  would  be  a  credit  to  many  an  Eastern  city. 
We  had  to  confess  our  surprise  to  Aunt  Jeannie. 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  131 

"Aye,  everybody  is  that  astonished  when  they 
sees  them  stannin'  up  sae  high  an'  gran',  —  an' 
they  others  is  good  hooses,  the  caepenter-shop,  an' 
the  smithy,  an'  the  weavin'  hoose.  An',  see  ye? 
.  Yon's  the  mill,  an'  the  brick  kiln,  an'  a',  an'  a';  like 
a  village  it  be!  An'  it's  the  big  orchard  they  hae, 
wi'  apples  these  twa  years,  —  an'  d'ye  see  the  rows 
o'  peas  an'  onions,  an'  the  green  corn  —  all  comin' 
on  fine!  Cousin  Mary  Berryman  an'  her  gude  mon 
are  the  great  managers !  An'  it's  the  gude  preachin' 
an'  teachin'  that  they  give  their  people!  An'  well 
I  know  it,  for  times  I  come  oot  here,  thinkin'  to 
cheer  her  up,  an'  go  awa'  wi'  more  help  frae  them 
than  I  could  ha'  brought.  She  is  a  vary  well-spring 
o'  courage  an'  cheerfulness,  an'  that  proud  o'  they 
little  Indian  lads  an'  lassies  that's  unner  her  charge! 
By  profession  she  is  a  Methody,  —  but  Methody  or 
Presbyterian,  she  is  ane  o'  the  Lord's  Elect! 

"They  lassies  yander,  a-hangin'  oot  the  claes, 
why  disna  they  be  a-rinnin'  in  to  tell  her  we're 
comin',  'stead  of  stannin'  there  an'  starin'?  Na, 
na,  gae  on  wi'  your  wark,  —  we  knows  the  way  in!" 

And  Aunt  Jeannie  took  us  around  to  the  back 
door,  and  we  entered  the  kitchen  to  find  "Cousin 
Mary"  sitting  in  the  center  of  a  shouting  ring  of 
little  Indian  maids,  who  were  chanting  their  table 
of  fiveses  to  the  tune  of  "Yankee  Doodle"  —  "Five 


132     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

times  five  are  twenty-five,  and  five  times  six  are 
thirty,"  —  and  while  she  kept  a  sharp  eye  upon 
them  to  see  that  each  one  was  doing  her  part  prop- 
erly, she  was  shelling  a  bushel  of  new  peas,  for  their 
dinner. 

The  "Fiveses"  came  to  a  sudden  stop!  The 
basket  of  peas  was  spilled  on  the  floor,  and  the  shy 
Indian  girls  were  allowed  to  slip  out  of  the  room,  as 
Cousin  Mary  rose  to  give  us  greeting.  There  was  a 
tender  gratitude  in  her  manner,  that  made  the  quick 
tears  spring  to  my  eyes.  The  look  of  high  courage 
is  stamped  upon  her  brow,  but  for  all  her  courage, 
she  knows  what  loneliness  and  homesickness  are,  I 
am  sure.  The  lingering  tremulous  touch  of  her  lips 
upon  my  cheek  told  me  that  much.  She  took  to 
Anna  as  if  she  were  her  very  own  sister  —  and  indeed 
they  are  enough  alike  to  be  sisters.  John,  she  said, 
was  the  handsomest  lad  her  eyes  had  ever  rested 
upon!  And  wasn't  she  proud  of  her  big  nephew, 
when  Aunt  Jeannie  explained  him  to  her! 

Rob  made  himself  at  home  in  the  very  first 
minute.  He  built  up  the  fire,  and  helped  pare  the 
potatoes,  and  stirred  the  corn-pone,  and  put  it  to 
baking  —  the  Indian  girls  looking  on  helplessly, 
—  and  dinner  was  the  same  as  ready,  before  we 
women  had  the  long  tables  set. 

Aunt  Jeannie  knew  how  to  make  herself  beloved. 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  1SS 

She  brought  with  her  a  crock  full  of  raisin  pudding, 
enough  so  each  one  of  the  eighty  children  should 
have  a  generous  helping.  All  through  the  meal 
they  had  been  on  their  best  behavior,  but  when 
the  pudding  came,  they  forgot  "manners,"  and 
gobbled  it  down,  and  nudged  each  others'  elbows, 
and  stole  each  others'  portion,  just  as  if  they  had 
been  nice  civilized  white  children! 

We  spent  several  hours  at  the  Mission,  watching 
the  pupils  at  work,  and  hearing  them  at  their  lessons. 
They  sang  for  us,  in  English  and  in  their  own  tongue; 
and  I  persuaded  one  of  them,  not  so  bashful  as  the 
others,  to  spell  out  for  me  a  verse  of  one  of  their 
Shawnee  hymns.  She  stood  by  me  and  gravely 
nodded  her  approval  as  I  wrote  it  down. 

"Na-peache  mi  ce  ta  ha, 

Che  na  mo  si  ti  we. 
Ma  ci  ke  na  mis  wa  la  ti, 
Mi  ti  na  pi  ni." 

"Alas,  and  did  my  Saviour  bleed, 

And  did  my  Sovereign  die? 
Would  He  devote  that  Sacred  Head 
For  such  a  worm  as  I?" 

The  spoken  language  of  the  Shawnees  is  musical 
in  itself;  and  its  syllables  are  open  and  liquid,  such 
as  fit  themselves  to  music  most  aptly  and  beauti- 
fully. 


134     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

While  we  were  engaged  up-stairs,  in  the  school- 
room, Mr.  Breunner  and  Mr.  Harrod  and  Kit  Car- 
son came  over  from  the  Chouteau  Trading  Post. 
Mr.  Breunner  and  his  friend  are  going  with  our 
caravan  as  far  as  Santa  Fe,  and  Mr.  Carson  is  on 
his  way  to  the  crossing  of  the  Kaw,  where  Fool- 
Chief's  village  is.  He  is  to  hold  a  pow-wow  and 
palaver  with  Fool-Chief  on  Fremont's  behalf  —  to 
secure  his  friendly  services  for  the  Expedition.  We 
stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched  the  Deacon's 
line  of  wagons  coming  down  over  the  little  divide  — 
and  a  large  and  imposing  cavalcade  it  was.  There 
were  thirty-three  wagons,  each  with  its  ten  yoke  of 
oxen,  and  there  was  a  string  of  loose  stock  —  (as 
they  call  it,  the  caballadd)  —  being  driven  along  in 
the  rear;  and  there  was  a  little  company  of  horsemen 
riding  in  advance,  and  others  at  the  sides,  armed 
cap-a-pie,  as  if  they  belonged  to  the  regulars! 

A  dozen  Indian  boys  busied  themselves  hitching 
up  the  two  spans  of  mules  to  our  traveling-carriage. 
We  climbed  in  and  settled  ourselves,  and  all  our 
little  extra  packages,  as  comfortably  as  we  could — 
and  it  was  then  that  I  realized  for  the  first  time 
something  of  what  our  journey  is  to  be.  For  months 
this  carriage  will  be  the  only  home  we  will  know. 

Iggy  Beauchemie,  our  driver,  took  his  place  on 
the  back  of  the  "nigh-leader,"  and  the  carriage 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  135 

swung  into  line  with  the  wagons.  The  caravan  was 
in  motion !  The  Plains  Pilgrimage  was  begun !  And 
now  I  cannot  remember  if  I  kissed  Aunt  Jeannie 
good-bye,  or  not. 

Hiram  came  to  us,  to  see  that  everything  was 
ship-shape,  and  in  order,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
walked  beside  us  talking  with  Iggy  Beauchemie  — 
the  same  Iggy  that  the  constable  had  "down  the 
well."  Hiram's  evidence  had  released  him,  of 
course,  but  the  Deacon  brought  him  with  us  to  be 
sure  that  there  would  be  no  further  trouble  for 
him. 

Hiram  is  "mighty  proud"  of  the  caravan.  He  says: 
"The  Deacon's  never  skimpy  with  his  outfitting 
and  every  year  he  goes  a  little  better  purvided  than 
the  year  before.  He's  got  a  extry  lot  of  guns  to  be 
slung  at  the  side  of  the  wagons,  and  a  howitzer,  too. 
Last  year  he  said  when  the  Injuns  follered  us  so, 
he  wished  he  had  a  big  gun  —  just  for  its  moral 
influence  on  'em!  If  they  was  to  hear  it  go  off 
they  would  be  skeered  into  conniption  fits,  and 
wouldn't  be  hangin'  'round,  and  actin'  so  previous- 
like! 

"They  wouldn't  be  no  need  of  havin'  trouble  with 
these  here  plains  Injuns  if  it  wasn't  for  the  renegade 
rascally  whites,  that  has  come  out  here  calculatin' 
to  cheat  an<J  rob  and  misuse  'em.  They  made  their 


136     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

treaties,  and  kept  'em  better  than  would  be  expected, 
till  right  lately.  But  they  are  gittin'  riled  up;  and 
when  an  Injun  gits  ready  for  to  take  his  revenge, 
he  never  stops  to  look  for  the  special  feller  that  has 
done  him  wrong  —  he  settles  his  account  with  the 
first  pale-face  that  he  can  get  his  hands  on!  And 
so  'tis  that  a  body  has  to  keep  his  eyes  peeled  for 
trouble!  But  if  people  goes  prepared  to  defend 
theirselves,  —  special  if  the  caravan  is  a  big  one  and 
they  is  plenty  of  men,  —  they  ain't  apt  to  be  no 
great  danger!" 

All  this  someway  did  not  sound  so  very  reassuring! 
And  the  Deacon  did  not  help  things  any  when  he 
came  to  the  carriage,  and  laid  a  big  brown  paper 
parcel  in  my  lap,  and  I  opened  it  and  found  that 
it  contained  three  Colt's  revolvers,  —  revolving, 
rapid-firing  pistols,  —  one  each  for  Anna  and  John 
and  me. 

The  Deacon  said  he  came  across  them,  quite  by 
accident,  yesterday. 

"I  did  not  know  there  was  one  of  these  weapons 
for  sale  in  Westport.  The  people  who  have  them 
prize  them  too  highly  to  part  with  them,  the  factory 
where  they  were  made  has  shut  down,  and  they  are 
out  of  the  market.  These  went  with  a  lot  of  other 
stuff,  in  a  forced  sale,  and  I  took  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  to  secure  them  for  you.  It  is  not  at 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  137 

all  likely  that  you  will  ever  need  them,  but  it  is 
prudent  to  be  prepared  for  the  unexpected." 

Miss  Curiosity  had  the  wrappers  off  from  hers 
before  the  Deacon  had  half  finished  his  explana- 
tion; and  John  was  eager  as  I.  The  weapon  is  a 
marvel  of  mechanical  ingenuity.  Six  chambers 
can  be  loaded  all  at  once.  Back  of  the  short  single 
barrel  is  a  revolving  cylinder  wherein  are  placed 
six  charges  of  ball  and  powder.  They  are  brought 
successively  under  a  hammer,  that  fires  a  percussion- 
cap,  and  so  discharges  the  load.  Six  shots  can  be 
fired  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  without  stop- 
ping to  reload.  When  we  stopped  at  our  first  camp, 
Mr.  Carson  came  over  to  show  us  how  to  use  the 
new  revolvers.  He  says  it  was  these  same  Colt's 
revolvers  that  put  a  stop  to  the  Seminole  War! 
The  Indians  were  terrorized  to  see  our  soldiers  stand 
there  and  fire,  and  keep  on  firing  without  ever  stop- 
ping to  reload  —  that  is  what  they  thought.  Their 
medicine-men  told  them  there  was  bewitchment 
in  such  guns,  and  that  the  touch  of  one  of  the  bullets 
was  sure  death  —  so  they  were  ready  to  sign  for 
peace,  when  the  chance  was  given  them. 

Mr.  Carson  showed  us  how  to  load  and  how  to 
hold  the  gun,  and  gave  us  a  lecture  on  the  science 
of  taking  aim. 

"You  will  never  make  a  good  shot  if  you  try  to 


138     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

hold  your  sight  on  your  game.  It's  got  to  be  done 
off-hand,  with  a  free  sweep,  so  to  speak,  —  like  an 
Indian  shoots  his  arrow." 

As  he  spoke  he  saw,  high  in  the  air  above  us,  an 
eagle  soaring.  He  turned  the  revolver  upward, 
with  an  easy  unhurried  motion,  and  touched  the 
trigger. 

"When  your  sight  comes  into  line  with  the  spot 
you  want  to  hit,  that  very  instant  you  want  to  let 
her  go.  There's  the  allowance  to  be  made  for  the 
speed  of  the  animal,  an'  for  the  wind" 

I  had  been  looking  at  the  eagle,  floating  in  the 
air  above  us.  I  saw  it  drop  a  little  ways,  and  beat 
the  air  desperately  with  its  wings  —  and  then  come 
•whirling  down!  Carson  looked  at  the  shapeless 
mass  of  feathers,  lying  there  in  the  dust,  and  then  he 
looked  at  the  little  shining  weapon  in  his  hand! 

"I  never  went  for  to  fetch  him  down.  I  don't 
aim  to  do  no  useless  killin'.  But  I  never  thought 
it  was  in  the  gun  to  do  such  as  that.  It's  a  special 
fine  weapon  that'll  carry  that  far!" 

With  a  connoisseur's  delight,  he  examined  the 
gun  again,  point  by  point,  polishing  its  bright 
barrel  on  his  sleeve,  and  sighting  through  the  open 
chambers. 

Our  lesson  on  the  handling  of  guns  was  over  for 
the  day,  —  but  there  are  other  lessons.  Deacon 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  139 

Gentry  does  not  intend  that  we  shall  go  down  into 
the  country  of  the  Spaniard,  ignorant  of  the  lan- 
guage. He  took  the  pains  to  purchase  for  me  a 
Spanish  dictionary  and  grammar,  but  I  am  not 
going  to  tie  myself  down  too  closely  to  book-study. 
In  this  case  I  am  sure  it  will  not  be  necessary.  The 
traders  and  teamsters,  those  who  make  yearly  trips 
to  Mexico,  all  speak  the  Spanish  as  readily  as  they 
speak  English  —  probably  quite  as  correctly,  too, 
their  English  not  being  above  criticism! 

Hearing  it  on  every  side,  —  for  they  seem  to  like 
to  use  the  expressive  Spanish  phrases,  —  and  having 
my  books  for  occasional  reference,  I  think  the 
language  will  come  to  us  without  much  effort  on 
our  part. 

That  first  evening  in  camp  seemed  the  most 
wonderful  I  had  ever  experienced.  There  was 
everything  new  to  see,  and  so  many  things  to  do! 

John  and  I  and  Mr.  Carson  watched  the  men  as 
they  made  their  preparations  for  the  night.  The 
cattle  were  staked  out  to  graze,  and  the  wagons, 
drawn  up  in  a  close  circle,  were  securely  chained 
together,  wheel  to  wheel.  At  bedtime  the  oxen 
were  brought  in  from  their  feeding-ground,  and 
placed  within  this  strong  barricade,  —  that  they 
might  not  be  stampeded  by  thieving  Indians  or 


140     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

devoured  by  the  wolves  that  always  follow  close  on 
the  heels  of  the  caravan. 

Our  cook,  Mr.  Williams,  served  us  with  the  finest 
supper.  He  is  a  paragon  and  a  wonder,  —  a  little 
crazy,  but  a  lovely  cook.  He  is  a  preacher,  too,  — 
dismissed  from  his  circuit,  because  he  cannot  refrain 
from  getting  drunk  at  intervals.  Now  that  he  has 
taken  up  the  profession  of  cook,  he  will  still  be 
wearing  his  ministerial  habiliments.  He  is  espe- 
cially devoted  to  his  tall  silk  hat!  One  never  sees 
him  without  it  on  his  head,  —  when  he  is  cooking, 
and  at  all  times!  That  is  why  I  think  he  must  be 
a  little  crazy. 

He  has  promised  the  Deacon  faithfully  that  he 
will  not  drink  a  drop,  while  he  is  with  us,  —  and  the 
Deacon  has  promised  him  faithfully  that  he  will 
have  him  soundly  thrashed  if  that  pledge  is  broken  — 
and  the  Deacon  will  keep  his  word.  This  is  by  Mr. 
Williams's  own  request,  as  the  Presiding  Elder  is  to 
reinstate  him  if  he  keeps  from  drinking  for  a  whole 
year. 

After  supper  I  began  to  inquire  how  our  beds  for 
the  night  were  to  be  arranged,  and  Hiram  came 
over  and  helped  us  to  convert  our  carriage  into  the 
coziest  kind  of  a  bedroom,  plenty  big  enough  for 
Anna  and  me. 

The  seats  were  taken  out,  and  buffalo-robes  and 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  141 

blankets  laid  down,  soft  as  a  feather-bed,  and  our 
white  sheets  and  quilts  spread  over  them.  Hiram 
fixed  a  folding-shelf  for  a  toilet-table,  and  we  have 
two  lanterns  to  hang  from  the  roof,  and  two 
candle  sconces!  When  the  curtains  are  fastened 
close  and  tight  it  is  as  comfortable  as  one  could 
wish  for. 

I  wanted  John  to  have  a  bed  made  in  Hiram's 
wagon,  but,  no,  he  would  sleep  on  the  ground,  with 
Auguste  on  one  side  of  him  and  Franchy  on  the 
other.  That  first  night  I  think  they  none  of  them 
tried  to  sleep,  —  I  heard  them  talking  and  giggling 
like  a  lot  of  boarding-school  girls! 

It  was  too  lovely  a  night  for  any  one  to  sleep. 
Anna  and  I  drew  the  curtains  back,  and  looked  up 
through  the  dark  branches  of  the  great  walnut- 
trees,  to  the  soft  purple  sky  studded  thick  with 
twinkling  stars. 

A  party  of  hunters  came  into  camp  with  a  deer 
slung  on  a  pole  between  them.  They  heaped  dry- 
wood  on  the  glowing  coals,  and  the  sudden  burst  of 
flame  wrought  a  wondrous  transformation  in  the 
scene. 

There  was  no  longer  any  distant  purple  sky,  lit 
by  trembling  stars.  The  red  blaze,  vivid  and 
intense,  blinded  us  to  all  save  itself,  and  the  near- 
by objects  9  that  caught  its  glare.  This  place 


142     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

was  not  the  out-of-doors.  We  were  within  a 
Gothic  temple  —  the  tree-trunks  were  pillars  of 
ruddy  gold,  and  the  branches  that  met  overhead 
marked  the  arches  of  the  lofty  roof;  the  screen  of 
leaves,  stained  with  tints  of  crimson  and  gray  and 
scarlet  and  gold,  formed  the  painted  and  fretted 
ceiling. 

Irving's  description  of  those  wonderful  Moorish 
palaces  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir,  the 
palaces  of  the  Alhambra,  came  to  my  mind,  and  I 
wondered  if  the  master-artist  who  first  dreamed 
them,  and  then  fashioned  them  in  stone,  had  not 
received  his  inspiration  from  some  such  scene  as 
this. 

I  felt  Anna's  soft  warm  hand  on  my  brow,  and  her 
fingers  lightly  touched  my  eyelids,  to  close  them. 

"There  now,  Cricket!  You  have  looked  long 
enough!  There  will  be  other  nights  lovely  as  this!" 

And  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  tucked 
the  clothes  around  me  —  and  I  was  asleep  in  that 
very  minute! 

The  next  thing  of  which  I  was  conscious,  was  the 
loud  clattering  of  an  iron  spoon  on  the  bottom  of 
the  dish-pan,  which  was  Mr.  Williams's  polite  way 
of  calling  our  attention  to  the  fact  that  breakfast 
was  ready. 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  143 

While  the  others  were  still  lingering  over  their 
flap-jacks  and  bacon,  the  Deacon  signed  to  me  to 
come  with  him  out  where  the  caballada  were  grazing. 
John  was  there  with  Mr.  Carson.  They  were 
looking  at  two  most  beautiful  ponies,  —  bright 
sorrels  and  mates,  —  and  they  are  ours,  John's  and 
mine!  The  Deacon  explained: 

"You  would  need  riding  ponies,  of  course  —  other- 
wise you  would  find  the  pace  of  the  caravan  slow 
past  enduring.  You  will  be  wanting  to  spend  half 
of  your  time  on  horseback,  as  soon  as  John  is  strong 
enough  for  such  exercise.  There  could  be  nothing 
better  for  the  boy." 

The  ponies  already  had  been  given  names,  and 
would  come  when  they  were  called  by  them.  John's 
is  "Barnaby,"  and  mine  is  "Aguilita"  —  "the  little 
eaglet."  The  name  suits  her  perfectly  —  she  is  so 
bold  and  swift  and  free! 

Mr.  Carson  showed  me  how  to  braid  her  mane 
with  strips  of  red  and  green  cloth,  as  the  Indians  do; 
and  he  brought  out  from  the  inside  of  his  jacket 
two  splendid  eagle-feathers,  which  he  thrust  through 
the  braid  of  her  foretop,  at  a  smart  coquettish  angle, 
just  as  an  Indian  maid  would  wear  such  an  ornament. 
And  Aguilita  tossed  her  head  and  preened  herself 
with  conscious  pride,  to  find  herself  tricked  out  in  a 
girl's  finery. 


144     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Since  we  came  out  from  York-State  I  have  always 
ridden  bareback,  and  now  I  only  had  to  girt  on  a 
blanket,  and  I  was  ready  to  mount.  Before  Aguilita 
knew  what  was  happening,  Mr.  Carson  had  lifted  me, 
and  I  was  on  her  back.  She  stood  straight  up,  and 
plunged,  and  went  through  some  fancy  dancing  steps; 
but  quieted  down  as  soon  as  she  understood  that 
everything  was  all  right.  Her  former  master  had 
ridden  her  astride,  and  guided  her  by  pressure  of 
the  knee;  so  she  had  to  accustom  herself  to  my 
woman's  way  of  riding  —  all  on  one  side  —  and  a 
very  awkward  and  uncomfortable  way  she  seemed 
to  think  it  was!  Yet  she  consented  to  overlook  it, 
as  a  special  favor  to  the  young  lady  on  her  back,  — 
the  poor  young  lady  who  evidently  knew  no  better 
than  to  ride  in  that  fashion!  Mr.  Carson  led  her 
around  till  she  became  somewhat  accustomed  to 
me  and  my  ways,  and  then  he  mounted  John's 
Barnaby,  and  we  rode  the  full  length  of  the  camp, 
both  of  the  ponies  behaving  beautifully.  We  have 
had  many  rides  together  since  then. 

John  told  Mr.  Carson  that  he  wanted  to  learn  a 
secret  call  —  something  like  an  insect's  chirp  — 
something  that  no  one  would  recognize  as  a  call 
but  Barnaby.  He  had  read  of  some  such  thing  in  one 
of  his  story-books  —  in  an  Indian  camp  it  had  saved 
the  hero's  life.  Mr.  Carson  smiled,  but  he  said  the 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL  145 

idea  was  not  a  bad  one,  and  he  taught  us  to  make  a 
clear  short  sharp  trilling  sound  between  our  teeth  — 
and  our  ponies  know  it  already,  and  come  at  the 
summons,  and  no  one  would  guess  that  we  had 
called  them. 

If  there  is  anything  John  does  not  know  about 
life  in  the  wild  West,  it  is  not  for  want  of  question- 
ing; and  because  it  is  John  who  asks,  Mr.  Carson 
talks  freely  of  his  adventures,  though  he  seems  to 
think  them  hardly  worth  the  recounting. 

Mr.  Breunner  says: 

"If  another  Homer  should  write  another  Odyssey, 
there  is  no  one  so  fitted  for  the  part  of  the  hero 
as  Kit  Carson.  If  the  poet  should  tell  Carson's 
life-story,  without  adding  to  it  or  subtracting  from 
it,  it  would  surpass  the  ancient  world-famous  epic, 
by  just  as  much  as  Carson  himself  surpasses 
the  Greek  hero  —  in  cunning  and  resourcefulness, 
in  power  of  endurance,  in  self-reliance  and  cour- 
age. Carson  is  the  possessor  of  all  the  virtues 
that  especially  belong  to  heroes,  and  other  and 
rarer  virtues  he  has,  the  virtues  that  endear  a  man 
to  his  fellowman.  He  is  unspoiled  by  flattery, 
though  of  this  he  has  had  his  full  share.  He  is 
gentle-minded,  and  honest  and  simple  and  true  — 
too  modest  a  man  for  the  world  to  discover  his  real 
worth." 


146     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

I  like  to  talk  of  Mr.  Carson.  It  is  next  best  to 
seeing  him.  And  see  him  again  we  never  will! 

We  did  not  know  he  thought  of  leaving  us  to-night! 
After  supper,  we  rode  across  to  the  hills  on  the  south, 
and  raced  back  to  camp  in  a  magnificent  wild  run. 
I  had  hardly  recovered  breath  when  he  wheeled  his 
horse  away  and  was  gone.  He  said  "Good-bye"  to 
the  Deacon  and  Mr.  Breunner,  but  not  to  me! 

Aguilita  did  not  understand  it,  nor  did  she  intend 
to  be  left  in  this  abrupt  unfriendly  way.  She 
called  after  him.  (I  would  have  done  so,  if  she  had 
not!)  Mr.  Carson  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  looked 
back,  and  lifted  his  arms,  and  made  the  sign  that 
in  the  Indian  sign-language  means,  "Farewell  — 
the  long,  the  long  Farewell!"  And  that  means, 
"Farewell,  forever!" 

I  remember  when  I  used  to  stand  at  mother's 
side,  and  lay  my  head  against  her  shoulder,  and 
she  would  put  the  twinnies  down,  and  take  me  — 
big  girl  as  I  was  —  in  her  lap,  and  sing  to  me  in  the 
soft  undertone  that  mothers  use  when  there  are 
childish  hurts  and  griefs  to  be  soothed.  And  the 
song  that  she  sang  then,  Anna  is  singing  now,  as 
she  sits  sewing  by  the  light  of  her  candle  —  not 
knowing  that  I  am  listening. 


THE    LONG    FAREWELL 


147 


"My  heart's  in  the  highlands, 

My  heart  is  not  here. 
My  heart's  in  the  highlands, 

A-chasing  the  deer. 
A-chasing  the  red  deer, 

And  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  highlands, 

Wherever  I  go." 


CHAPTER  XVI 
AN  INDIAN   TRADE 

IT'S  a-takin'  one's  religious  feelings  too  far  West, 
to  be  a-trying  to  keep  Sunday  out  on  the 
plains!  But  I  wouldn't  say  but  the  Deacon 
mayn't  be  right,  for  he's  always  one  of  the  lucky 
ones,  and  the  caravan  he  goes  with,  is  always  lucky, 
too.  'T would  naterally  seem  'twould  be  a  waste 
of  vallyble  time  to  stop  and  rest  one  day  out  of 
every  seven,  but  the  caravan  that  abides  by  it, 
accordin'  as  the  Deacon  says,  does  somehow  come 
through  in  a  leetle  better  time  than  them  that 
don't,  likewise  they  always  strikes  a  good  market! 
I  reckon  it's  just  luck,  —  but  if  'tis,  why  't  behooves 
us  to  stick  by  it  and  not  do  nothing  to  contrary 
it.  'Tain't  nowise  safe  to  cross  your  luck.  Any- 
body knows  that!" 

This  seems  to  be  the  general  opinion  of  the  men 
of  the  caravan  regarding  the  good  Deacon's  "pecul- 
iar notions"  about  Sunday  travel.  But  if  we  had 
wanted  to  travel  the  last  Sunday,  we  could  not 
have  done  so!  On  Saturday  evening,  before  the 


AN    INDIAN    TRADE  149 

time  to  put  them  inside  the  wagon-corral,  a  bunch 
of  oxen  and  mules  pulled  their  picket-pins  and 
"vamoosed,"  and  it  took  our  men-folks  till  the 
middle  of  Sunday  afternoon  to  round  them  up,  and 
bring  them  in.  They  are  as  yet  unused  to  traveling 
together,  they  are  over  well  fed,  and  too  full  of 
spirit.  But  this  condition  will  not  last  long  —  a 
few  hard  pulls  such  as  they  had  Monday  at  "the 
Narrows"  will  make  them  meek  and  quiet  enough! 

There  is  a  hill  there  about  two  hundred  feet 
high,  so  steep  the  men  had  to  rig  up  the  "block- 
and-tickle"  to  help  pull  the  wagons  up,  and  then  to 
let  them  down  on  the  further  side.  The  oxen  alone 
were  not  able  to  do  it,  though  they  doubled  the 
teams  on  every  wagon. 

The  hill  was  bad  enough,  but  the  quagmire  at  its 
foot  was  "worser,"  —  and  it  did  not  look  like  a 
quagmire  at  all!  There  was  a  dry  crust  over  it, 
that  would  almost  hold  a  man  up,  but  the  heavy 
wagons  crushed  right  down  through  it,  and  into  % 
the  mud,  hub  deep.  The  men  had  to  wade  in  and 
help  at  the  wheels,  pushing  and  lifting,  as  the  great 
beasts  tugged  and  puffed  and  strained.  A  pretty 
sight  the  men  were,  with  limbs  clogged  with  heavy 
yellow  and  green  clay,  and  their  faces  smeared  and 
streaked,  for  all  the  world  like  painted  Indians! 

Mr.  Harrod  was  as  deep  in  the  niire  as  anybody 


150     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

—  and  it  was  here  that  we  came  first  to  really  know 
him  for  what  he  is,  a  most  capable  commander  and 
leader.  He  is  no  stranger  to  the  West,  having 
been  one  of  the  best  known  of  the  merchants  of 
Santa  Fe  some  five  years  ago.  He  has  traveled  the 
plains  many  times  —  once  as  "Captain  of  the  Cara- 
van"; so  when  we  got  into  difficulties  the  direction 
of  things  seemed  to  fall  naturally  to  him.  As  if 
it  were  a  part  of  an  every-day  routine  duty,  he 
gave  his  orders,  and  the  men  worked  together, 
without  hurry  and  without  excitement,  accomplish- 
ing really  wonderful  feats  of  strength  with  no  waste 
of  effort.  The  men  believe  in  "Captain  Harrod," 
and  rely  on  him. 

"They  ain't  no  one  more  capable  than  him,  when 
there's  a  tight  place  to  be  got  out  of!  He'll  do  to 
depend  on  that-a-way,  same  as  always;  though  he 
don't  resemble  the  man  he  used  to  be  no  more'n 
frozen  ice  resembles  bilin'  hot  steam!  He  used  to 
be  that  gay  and  sociable,  the  life  of  the  camp.  Not 
like  he  is  now,  a-keepin'  hisself  to  hisself,  sayin' 
nothin'  about  what's  his  business,  nor  about  the 
stuff  he's  a-carryin'  in  them  wagons  of  his  —  ammu- 
nition and  weapons  as  some  of  'em  say  —  and  it's 
enough  to  make  a  man  right  curious!" 

They  do  not  need  to  be  prying  into  his  private 
affairs.  He  has  a  right  to  keep  "himself  to  him- 


AN    INDIAN    TRADE  151 

self,"  and  whatever  his  business  is,  it  is  legitimate 
and  righteous,  —  one  may  be  very  sure  of  that! 

There  is  nothing  so  secret  regarding  the  plans  and 
purposes  of  Professor  Breunner.  At  the  University 
of  Gottingen  they  have  some  special  reason  for' 
being  interested  in  Mexico  —  I  think  the  president 
of  the  University  has  travelled  in  that  country  — 
but  at  any  rate  the  Baron  von  Munsterberg  formally 
commissioned  Mr.  Breunner  to  go  there  as  the 
representative  of  the  University,  to  make  a  study 
of  the  ancient  Spanish  and  Aztec  records  and  ruins. 

"Even  before  the  Baron  mentioned  the  subject  I 
had  myself  been  thinking  that  I  might  make  the 
trip  to  the  Southwest,"  Mr.  Breunner  said.  "If 
there  is  to  be  war  with  Mexico,  this  may  be  my 
last  opportunity  to  visit  that  most  interesting 
country  —  and  there  are  many  reasons  besides." 

Mr.  Breunner  has  loaned  me  a  map  showing  the) 
country  we  are  crossing.  As  I  marked  upon  it  the 
course  of  our  journey  I  was  surprised  at  its  great 
length.  If  the  crooked  line  were  a  straight  one, 
it  would  reach  more  than  half-way  across  this  conti- 
nent! It  is  a  longer  journey,  and  a  more  perilous 
journey,  than  any  of  us  had  thought!  Had  we 
known  as  much  about  it  six  weeks  ago  as  we  do  to- 
day, I  doubt  if  father  would  have  let  us  attempt  it. 


152     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

I  fancy  that  many  of  the  great  and  daring  deeds 
we  read  of,  in  the  lives  of  warriors  and  statesmen, 
are  done  because  they  are  undertaken  heedlessly, 
in  ignorance  of  the  dangers  to  be  encountered. 
Once  in  the  midst  of  difficulties  one  must  struggle 
through,  and  so  a  reputation  for  courage  is  won, 
that  may  be  no  more  than  half  deserved. 

So  it  will  probably  be  with  us.  They  will  think 
us  brave,  when  we  were  in  reality  only  ignorant! 

But  if  I  could  now  turn  back,  I  would  not.  The 
apprehension  of  approaching  danger  is  not  enough 
to  daunt  us.  It  is  only  enough  to  spice  the  ad- 
venture, to  make  the  journey  seem  more  enticing 
to  the  fancy.  We  talk  of  danger,  but  we  do  not 
really  believe  in  it! 

I  was  almost  disappointed  to-day,  that  I  could 
not  summon  the  littlest  thrill  of  fear,  when  we  saw, 
in  the  distance,  a  band  of  Indians  approaching! 
But  they  did  not  swoop  down  upon  us,  as  we  were 
half-inclined  to  believe  prairie  Indians  would  do. 
No,  they  came  along  very  sedately,  fifty  of  them, 
going  on  a  visit  to  their  Kaw  friends,  up  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Kansas  river. 

Their  shaggy  little  ponies  were  dragging  loads 
much  too  heavy  for  them  —  tepees,  and  cooking- 
kettles,  and  papooses,  piled  up  anyhow  all  to- 
gether on  the  trailing  tepee-poles.  Mr.  Indian 


AN    INDIAN    TRADE  153 

rode  the  family  horse  which  dragged  the  family 
belongings,  and  Mrs.  Indian  walked  alongside,  — 
happy  in  the  fact  that  her  dear  lord  was  comfortable, 
I  suppose! 

The  caravan  stopped,  to  palaver  with  the  band, 
and  to  "trade."  Mr.  Williams,  the  cook,  got  some 
cheese  and  garden-truck,  enough  to  last  us  for 
several  meals,  and  gave  in  exchange  a  handful  of 
bright  buttons  —  the  poor  squaws  quite  contented 
with  the  bargain! 

Later,  things  began  to  get  a  bit  too  lively,  when  a 
dozen  young  braves  rode  up  and  joined  the  others. 
They  were  disposed  to  be  decidedly  mischievous. 
It  is  a  rule  with  travelers  to  keep  up  a  show  of 
good-humor  with  the  Indians  they  meet,  and  not 
resent  anything  except  what  is  meant  to  be  real 
hostility.  So  the  men  allowed  themselves  to  be 
rudely  shoved  and  jostled,  and  the  biggest  of  the 
young  Indians  put  his  arm  around  Rob's  neck,  and 
tousled  his  hair,  and  went  through  the  pantomine 
of  scalping  him,  all  the  time  whooping  in  the  most 
realistic  style!  It  was  very  amusing  to  the  Indians 
who  were  gathered  around,  and  they  doubled 
themselves  up  with  mirth,  and  stamped,  and  laughed 
uproariously.  Rob  laughed  with  them  —  and  then 
proceeded  to  reciprocate  in  kind!  He  gave  his  too 
friendly  friend  a  friendly  squeeze  in  the  ribs,  that 


154     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

made  him  gasp.  There  was  a  sound  like  a  rib 
cracking,  and  when  Rob  dropped  him  he  was  a 
wiser,  as  he  was  a  sadder,  Indian! 

This  put  an  end  to  their  rough  play,  but  they 
still  presumed  upon  our  good-nature.  They  rode 
alongside  of  the  wagons,  and  poked  their  heads 
inside  the  covers,  and  if  they  saw  anything  they 
wanted  they  seized  upon  it,  and  held  on  to  it,  and 
tried  to  make  us  take  something  in  trade  for  it  — 
extra  moccasins,  beaded  bags,  and  the  like. 

While  we  were  looking  in  another  direction,  two 
boys  slipped  into  our  carriage,  and  made  off  with 
Anna's  bonnet  —  the  one  with  the  wreath  of  cherries 
around  the  crown,  and  Hiram  would  not  let  Anna 
say  one  word! 

I  had  been  watching  three  little  Indian  infants 
scrabbling  for  bones  in  among  the  ashes  of  our 
camp-fire,  when  I  heard  some  bigger  boys  quarreling 
fiercely  over  something  they  had  "found."  It  was 
my  precious  toilet-box!  One  had  hold  of  the  lid, 
and  the  other  was  hanging  fast  to  the  box,  when  it 
came  apart  and  the  contents  were  scattered  every- 
where! I  laid  hands  on  both  of  those  copper-hued 
boys,  and  talked  to  them  in  the  strongest  English  I 
dared  to  use.  They  understood  it,  and  gave  me  all 
that  was  left  of  the  toilet-case;  but  it  was  in  three 
pieces;  and  right  there  before  my  very  eyes  one 


AN    INDIAN    TRADE  155 

little  wretch  of  an  Indian  boy  sat  and  ate  up  all 
that  face-cream  that  Aunt  Hattie  B.  had  made  so 
specially  for  me! 

Most  of  the  Indians  had  gone  on,  when  one  of  the 
squaws  came  to  the  carriage,  and  cautiously  took 
out  from  under  her  greasy  blanket  a  beautiful  eagle- 
feather  head-dress.  She  motioned  that  I  was  to 
put  it  on  my  head,  and  as  I  stood  there,  the  long 
streamer,  all  edged  with  feathers,  swept  the  ground. 
And  this  she  offered  to  trade  for  the  wreck  of  the 
toilet-box.  It  was  the  mirror  she  wanted.  She 
put  out  her  tongue  and  laughed  to  see  the  reflection 
in  the  glass  do  the  same,  and  she  was  so  busily  en- 
gaged in  this  pleasing  performance,  she  could  pay 
very  little  heed  to  us.  The  bargain  was  forced  upon 
me,  for  her  hands  did  not  let  go  the  box,  and  she 
hurried  off  with  it,  leaving  me  the  head-dress  in 
exchange ! 

Robideaux  —  one  of  the  older  plainsmen  —  said 
the  squaw  probably  stole  it  out  of  some  Cheyenne's 
tent.  "It  is  Cheyenne  make,  not  in  the  least  like 
anything  of  the  Kaws'  making."  I  do  not  see  how 
he  could  be  so  sure. 

I  can  not  help  but  regret  the  loss  of  my  face- 
cream.  It  is  serious,  for  the  winds  of  the  prairie 
burn  my  face.  I  may  be  compelled  to  borrow  one 
of  Anna's  blue  veils,  only  I  hate  to  shut  myself  up 


156     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

behind  a  smothery  veil.  It  is  so  splendid  —  so 
glorious  —  to  ride  full  in  the  face  of  the  strong  west 
wind!  I  feel  that  I  could  fly,  if  only  I  dared  to 
launch  myself  in  space,  and  trust  myself  to  its 
strength ! 

I  want  Anna  —  lazy  Anna!  —  to  share  this  pleas- 
ure with  me  —  to  ride  with  me;  but  she  will  not 
be  persuaded,  even  though  I  offered  to  let  her  ride 
my  own  pony,  Aguilita.  John  is  not  allowed  to 
mount  his  horse,  Barnaby,  as  yet.  The  Deacon 
will  not  go  with  me.  He  says  he  is  "too  old  to  go 
scampering  across  the  prairie  on  a  half-broken 
mustang";  so  I  have  to  ride  alone,  and  must  never 
go  out  of  sight  of  the  caravan. 

This  visit  of  the  Indians  has  given  the  men  some- 
thing new  to  talk  about.  We  are  all  beginning  to 
feel  better  acquainted  with  each  other.  When 
evening  comes  we  draw  our  boxes  and  cushiony 
buffalo-robes  up  to  the  cheerful  fire,  and  the  Deacon 
makes  a  place  near  him  for  John;  Anna  and  I 
sit  near;  and  we  listen,  and  do  not  say  much, 
—  as  young  folks  should  do,  when  their  elders  are 
speaking. 

Sometimes  Joe-Lu's  violin  makes  itself  heard  — 
always  from  a  distance,  always  from  somewhere 
out  in  the  shadows.  Perhaps  Joe-Lu  finds  the  key 
to  our  feelings  in  the  blaze  of  the  campfire.  When 


AN    INDIAN    TRADE  157 

the  flame  leaps  high  and  scatters  its  glowing  sparks 
in  a  fountain  of  fire,  then  the  music  comes  full 
and  strong  and  free!  Sometimes  when  the  blaze 
dies  down  and  our  voices  drop  into  half-silences, 
the  strings  murmur  the  sweet  dear  strains  of  the 
home-songs. 

I  do  not  know  which  is  sweetest,  the  melody,  or 
the  first  hush  that  follows  it.  Nor  do  I  know  which 
is  dearest,  the  bright  dancing  firelight,  or  the  soft 
cloak  of  darkness  that  enfolds  us,  as  we  lay  our 
heads  upon  our  pillows,  and  nestle  down  into  our 
soft  blankets  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SWEET  FIELDS  BEYOND   THE  SWELLING 
FLOOD 


1THIS  is  no  monotonously  level  plain,  stretch- 
ing away  drearily  into  interminable  dis- 
tance. The  contour  of  the  country  is 
beautifully  diversified,  with  hills,  not  steep,  valleys, 
not  wide,  little  rivers,  not  deep,  and  groves,  not  big 
enough  to  get  lost  in,  but  big  enough  to  afford  a 
grateful  shade  for  our  noonday  rest. 

It  does  not  seem  like  the  old,  old  world,  at  all,  — 
the  world  we  read  of  in  the  histories,  the  world  where 
nations  have  struggled  into  life,  grown  into  strength, 
declined  and  died,  the  world  whose  soil  is  pol- 
luted with  graves!  It  is  as  if  it  were  a  star,  new- 
created,  a  world  new-born,  —  clean  and  sweet,  and 
fresh  and  fair. 

The  air  is  exhilarating,  —  intoxicating!  The 
blood,  in  full  tide,  pulses  in  my  veins,  so  I  can  feel 
its  throbbing.  The  moments  are  over-charged  with 
joy,  —  the  pure  joy  of  living!  Aguilita  feels  it  too. 
She  carries  me  at  the  swiftest  of  paces  along  ahead 


BEYOND  THE  SWELLING  FLOOD   159 

of  the  caravan,  or  in  a  wide  sweep  around  it,  up  to 
the  hills  on  either  side  of  the  trail,  and  back  again, 
before  anyone  has  had  time  to  wonder  where  we  are. 

The  pace  of  our  oxen  is  the  slowest  in  the  world, 
and  I  grow  impatient  lest  the  big  company  that  was 
waiting  at  the  Council  Grove  should  go  on  without 
us.  But  Deacon  Gentry  said  there  was  plenty  of 
time. 

"I  would  as  soon  they  got  through  their  election 
business  before  we  appear  on  the  scene.  They 
usually  show  common-sense,  in  choosing  the  offi- 
cers of  the  caravan,  but  they  make  a  great  to-do 
about  it!  There  is  more  arguing  and  pulling  for 
votes,  not  to  mention  regular  knock-down  fights, 
than  in  the  election  of  a  National  Congressman! 
I  prefer  not  to  be  mixed  up  in  their  squabbles  and 
disputes!" 

But  we  were  mixed  up  in  them,  nevertheless,  and 
notwithstanding!  Just  before  we  reached  Council 
Grove,  we  stopped  by  Big-John  Spring,  to  eat  our 
dinner  —  a  late  dinner;  and  while  we  were  there 
a  party  of  men  rode  up,  to  get  acquainted,  and, 
incidentally,  to  solicit  our  votes! 

Gallia  est  omnis  divisa,  in  paries  ires!  They  in- 
formed us  that  the  camp  at  the  Grove  was  divided 
into  three  factions,  each  with  its  own  candidate  for 
the  office  of  Captain. 


160     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  spokesman  among  our  visitors,  "Tom 
Haines,"  was  himself  one  of  these  candidates.  He 
had  been  treated  shamefully,  he  said,  though  I 
imagine,  from  his  overbearing  manner,  that  he  may 
have  been  more  than  a  little  to  blame.  He  said  he 
had  decided  to  withdraw,  but  that  now,  seeing  they 
had  tried  to  murder  him,  he  would  not  yield  one 
inch  —  reinforcing  his  statement  with  a  string  of 
profane  oaths,  which  did  not  help  his  cause  with 
the  Deacon! 

His  companions  explained  that  some  of  his  ene- 
mies had  buried  a  powder-flask  under  the  cold  ashes 
of  his  camp-fire,  and  that  when  he  stirred  the  coals 
to  cook  his  breakfast,  there  was  an  explosion  that 
scattered  bacon  and  coffee  and  skillets  all  around! 
He  was  unhurt,  —  and  this  seemed  to  be  a  grievance, 
that  he  had  no  mark  or  scar  to  show  for  the  dastardly 
trick  that  had  been  played  upon  him! 

This  man  Haines  knew  Captain  Harrod  very 
well,  his  acquaintanceship  dating  back  to  the  time 
when  Captain  Harrod  lived  in  Santa  Fe.  All  of 
his  remarks  were  addressed  to  this,  the  "silent 
man"  of  our  party.  He  explained  at  length  his 
own  superior  qualifications  for  the  position  he  was 
seeking,  but  Captain  Harrod  only  looked  over 
his  head,  and  answered  him  nothing.  It  is  not 
like  the  Deacon  to  express  an  opinion  until  he  has 


BEYOND  THE  SWELLING  FLOOD   161 

heard  both  sides  of  a  controversy,  so  our  interviewers 
and  high-pleaders  rode  away,  without  any  promise 
of  help  from  us. 

They  must  have  given  a  good  report  of  us,  never- 
theless, for  when  we  came  to  the  Council  Oak  we 
found  a  great  crowd  assembled  there,  with  a  proposi- 
tion ready  for  our  consideration. 

The  deadlock  between  the  three  would-be  leaders 
could  not  be  broken,  and  seeing  that  no  one  of  them 
could  be  chosen  as  the  Captain,  they  were  ready 
to  accept  the  places  of  Lieutenants,  —  if  Captain 
Harrod  would  accept  the  first  place.  They  assured 
us  that  every  one  would  be  satisfied  with  this 
arrangement,  but  Captain  Harrod  brushed  them 
brusquely  and  rudely  aside.  "Our  first  duty  is  to 
make  camp,"  he  told  them. 

We  did  not  camp  with  them  on  the  east  side  of 
the  river,  but  crossed  to  the  west,  and  took  our 
wagons  up,  out  of  the  low  valley,  on  to  the  slope  of 
the  rocky  bluff,  that  here  lies  parallel  with  the  river. 

The  sky  was  dark  with  clouds.  The  coming  of  a 
storm  was  evident  enough  to  anyone  who  had  his 
wits  about  him.  Hiram,  as  he  hurried  here  and  there, 
staking  down  the  wagon  covers,  and  double-fasten- 
ing the  huge  chains  that  held  the  wagons  together, 
said: 

"Them  fools  over  there  sure  needs  a  Captain,  for 


162     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

to  tell  them  to  stop  their  talkin*  and  get  to  work. 
Their  stock  is  a-grazin5  round  loose,  and  they  are 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river,  if  there  should  be  a 
storm  and  if  the  river  should  go  on  the  rampage  like 
they  say  it  sometimes  does!" 

Their  foolish  inaction,  I  think,  made  Captain 
Harrod  anxious;  and  when  a  deputation  came  over 
to  our  side  to  know  his  decision,  he  said: 

"I  doubt  that  I  will  be  a  Captain  to  your  liking 
—  but  you  have  chosen  me!  There  is  no  time  for 
formalities!  You  will  take  my  orders  at  once!  Go 
and  get  your  stock  together,  and  rush  the  wagons 
across  the  river." 

They  worked  with  a  will,  encouraged  by  the  active 
assistance  of  their  Captain.  Much  can  be  done  in  a 
little  time,  and  in  an  hour  more  than  half  of  them 
were  in  the  new  camp,  just  a  little  south  of  ours. 
Then  a  midnight  blackness  blotted  out  everything, 
and  the  men  could  see  to  do  no  more. 

The  air  suddenly  grew  still  —  pulseless  as  Death, 
and  as  cold.  A  flurry  of  big  splashing  raindrops! 
A  swishing  watery  sound  in  the  air!  The  bitter 
smell  of  wet  dust!  Then  the  cloud-roof  opened  and 
the  deluge  came  through!  In  our  carriage  we  were 
sheltered  from  the  actual  downpour,  yet  we  could 
hardly  breathe  —  the  air  was  so  thick  with  moisture ! 
The  thunder  was  a  loud,  deep,  continuous  roar, 


BEYOND  THE  SWELLING  FLOOD   163 

broken  by  dreadful  explosive  crashes,  that  seemed 
to  come  simultaneously  from  the  sky  above  us,  the 
air  around  us,  and  the  earth  beneath  our  feet. 

In  the  carriage  Anna  had  lighted  one  poor  little 
lantern,  and  in  the  dim  light  we  saw  each  other's 
faces,  white  with  terror.  Then  smiles  gradually 
came  to  the  surface,  and  the  bonds  that  had  held 
us  captive  to  fear  fell  away  from  us.  I  thought  to 
myself,  "The  Giants  who  are  playing  up  there, 
tumbling  their  thunder-clouds  around,  are  noisy 
enough,  to  be  sure,  but  noise  is  not  dangerous,"  — 
and  our  mood  changed  all  in  an  instant,  so  that  we 
felt  only  a  wild  exhilaration  and  joy  in  the  tumult  of 
the  elements. 

We  held  the  curtains  a  little  apart,  that  we  might 
gaze  upon  the  sublime  spectacle !  Though  the  clouds 
were  gathered  thick  above  us,  smothering  us  under 
their  dark  and  watery  folds,  yet  by  the  pallid  quiv- 
ering sheet-lightning,  which  came  and  went  with 
every  moment,  we  could  discern  the  groups  of  white- 
covered  wagons,  the  rocks,  the  tossing  writhing 
branches  of  the  nearer  trees.  There  were  inter- 
vals of  dreadful  darkness,  and  then  a  sudden  blind- 
ing glare !  The  clouds  would  be  rent  by  fiery  forked 
lightning-bolts  —  rocks  and  trees  and  clouds  edged 
with  dazzling  lines  of  flame!  For  an  appreciable 
moment  the  wide  landscape,  from  hilltop  to  distant 


164     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

hilltop,  lay  before  us,  plainly  visible,  bathed  in  a 
wave  of  crimson  light.  It  was  a  world  strange  and 
awful,  yet  gloriously  beautiful! 

In  one  of  the  pauses  in  the  storm,  we  saw  two 
figures  making  their  way  to  the  carriage.  They 
carried  a  basket  between  them,  —  it  was  Himey 
and  Mr.  Breunner,  and  in  the  basket  was  our 
supper!  We  had  had  none,  and  were  dying  with 
hunger  —  only  we  had  not  thought  of  it  till  they 
began  to  unpack  the  eatables. 

"I  ransacked  the  box  of  goodies  that  Anna's  ma 
put  up,  in  case  we  should  be  sick,"  Hiram  said. 
"I  says  to  myself,  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  '11  feel  any 
sicker  than  I  do  right  now,  for  a  sight  of  good  victuals, 

—  and  I  reckon  you're  the  same  way  inclined." 
While  Hiram's  tongue  was  running  on  in  this 

fashion,  his  hands  were  not  idle.  He  lighted  two 
more  lanterns,  and  all  the  candles;  he  changed  the 
seats  about  to  face  each  other;  unhinged  the  toilet- 
shelf  for  a  table,  and  on  it  spread  our  rich  repast 

—  cold  flap-jacks  and  corn-bread,  and  jerked  beef, 
and  the  goodies  from  "Anna's  ma's  box,"  jelly  and 
pear-preserves,  and  maple-sugar  and  raisins!     And 
there  was  a  double  handful  of  butternuts  —  I  haven't 
the  faintest  idea  where  Himey  got  them  —  and  he 
cracked    them    with    one    stone    on    another,    and 
cracked  his  knuckles  at  the  same  time.     We  ate  and 


BEYOND  THE  SWELLING  FLOOD   165 

laughed,  and  laughed  and  ate!  We  held  our  tin 
cups  on  the  outside,  and  caught  water  to  drink, 
fresh  from  the  clouds,  spicy  with  the  essence  of 
lightning,  —  intoxicating  as  wine! 

And  Anna  and  I  held  the  emptied  dishes  out  and 
let  the  ram  wash  them  for  us.  Then  we  settled 
ourselves  with  our  work  to  spend  a  "quiet  evening," 
—  and  the  thunder  rattled  and  growled,  and  the 
livid  lightning  flashed  its  living  bolts,  and  Anna 
set  her  neat  little  stitches  in  her  patchwork  quilt, 
and  I,  so  that  I  should  not  seem  given  to  idleness, 
got  out  my  tatting  shuttle  and  made  a  pretense 
of  work.  But  the  dampness  knotted  my  thread  so 
I  had  not  three  inches  of  edging  done  at  the  end  of 
an  hour,  to  show  for  my  labor. 

I  was  able  to  listen  all  the  better  to  what  Mr. 
Breunner  was  telling,  about  other  storms  like  this 
that  he  had  been  exposed  to,  —  in  the  passes  of  the 
Volscian  Apennines,  when  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Rome  four  years  ago.  He  went  on  down  to  Naples, 
and  then  across  to  Pompeii,  and  was  with  the  work- 
men when  they  found  two  chests  of  gold  and  silver 
and  jewels,  —  and  he  saw  the  real  house  that 
Bulwer-Lytton  describes  in  "The  Last  Days  of 
Pompeii"  as  the  "house  of  Glaucus."  He  wrote 
an  account  of  his  trip  for  the  "Professoren  of 
Gottingen,"  illustrating  it  with  sketches  of  the  more 


166     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

important  scenes  that  he  visited.  The  Baron 
Eriedrich  Ehrlich  von  Munsterberg  was  at  that 
time  one  of  the  University's  professors,  —  and  that 
is  how  it  comes  that  he  gave  Ernst  Breunner  the 
commission  to  go  to  Mexico.  It  is  not  at  all 
strange. 

Hiram  was  whistling  under  his  breath  and  whit- 
tling on  a  "patent-model"  —  an  automatic  wagon- 
lifter.  He  is  always  figuring  on  some  "patent 
thing"  when  he  has  a  moment  of  extra  time. 

"When  I  am  in  the  Meetin'-house,  of  a  Sunday, 
and  the  preacher  is  poundin'  the  big  Book,  and  I 
am  tryin'  to  foller  the  thread  of  the  discourse,  — 
right  there  and  then  I  can  figger  out  more  vallyble 
contrivances  and  contraptions  than  I  could  whittle 
out  in  a  month  of  Sundays.  I  don't  reckon  the 
Lord  lays  it  up  agin  me,  for  they  just  comes  to  me, 
without  my  seekin'  after  them!" 

And  Hiram  was  exhibiting  this  latest  product  of 
his  genius  —  when  all  of  a  sudden  we  came  to  a 
realization  that  this  must  be  Sunday,  ten  minutes 
after  midnight  by  John's  watch !  We  laid  aside  our 
tasks, — and  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  stars  were 
shining. 

Anna  and  I  would  not  let  Himey  make  down  our 
bed  as  usual.  We  simply  wrapped  ourselves  in  our 
blankets  and  curled  up  on  the  seats  and  tried  to  get 


BEYOND  THE  SWELLING  FLOOD  167 

our  sleep.  But  my  dreams  were  troubled  by  the 
roaring  of  old  Vesuvius.  The  people  of  Pompeii 
were  shouting  and  crying  and  running  to  and  fro, 
trying  to  escape  from  their  ruined  city!  And  it 
was  not  altogether  a  dream!  There  was  a  great 
roaring,  —  the  roaring  of  a  flood!  And  there  was  * 
shouting  and  crying  aloud,  —  the  men  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream  were  calling  for  help,  and  no  one 
could  go  to  their  aid!  The  river  —  the  Neosho  — 
filled  the  valley  from  bluff  to  bluff,  a  swift-flowing, 
ugly,  muddy  flood!  We  on  the  west  bank  were 
safe,  —  but  what  of  the  others  on  the  low  ground 
over  in  the  Grove?  They  had  lashed  their  wagons 
together,  and  anchored  them  fast  to  the  big  trees, 
and  now  they  were  in  water  that  came  up  almost  to 
the  floor  of  the  wagon-beds  (with  our  spyglasses  we 
could  see  everything),  and  the  men  had  climbed  into 
the  trees,  and  were  perched  on  the  limbs  like  birds. 
They  must  have  been  wretchedly  uncomfortable, 
but  they  were  laughing  and  making  the  best  of  it  —  * 
as  they  could  very  well  afford  to  do,  no  one  having 
been  washed  away  by  the  flood,  nor  even  injured. 

Before  we  were  through  with  our  breakfast  the 
river  was  within  its  banks  again,  and  at  eleven 
the  men  were  swimming  their  horses  across.  By 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  wagons  were  all 
over  on  our  side,  but  some  of  the  drivers  were  care- 


168     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

less  and  got  into  deep  water,  so  their  loads  of  goods 
were  thoroughly  soaked,  and  every  bale  had  to  be 
unsewed  and  every  bolt  unrolled,  and  spread  out  to 
dry.  The  open  prairie  and  the  bushes  were  draped 
with  rainbow-hued  dry-goods  —  pink  and  purple, 
and  green  and  scarlet  and  blue.  The  men  did  not 
enjoy  the  pretty  sight,  for  it  meant  a  lot  of  extra 
work  for  them. 

There  was  so  much  to  do  no  one  thought  of  getting 
dinner  till  late  in  the  afternoon.  Then  John  and  I 
mounted  our  ponies  —  John  had  not  been  allowed 
to  ride  before  this  time,  —  and  we  went  down  around 
the  strangers'  camp,  and  then  down  to  the  ford  to 
watch  the  crossing  of  six  new  wagons  that  had  just 
made  their  appearance  from  along  the  trail  to  the 
east. 

And  in  the  front  wagon  was  Uncle  Pliny  —  our 
Uncle  Pliny!  I  was  off  my  pony  and  answering  to 
his  "Wall,  howdy,  Miss  Deya  !"  before  one  could 
say  "Jack  Robinson!"  He  looked  around  with  a 
keen  glance  that  took  in  everything  that  had 
happened. 

"It  looks  like  you  might  have  had  a  right  smart 
sprinkle  of  rain  here  last  night.  We  heerd  the 
thunder,  an'  seen  the  lightnin',  but  they  wa'n't 
enough  rain  fell  to  lay  the  dust.  Lucky  for  me! 
I'm  that  short-handed  I  don't  know  what  I'd  a  done 


BEYOND    THE    SWELLING    FLOOD  169 

in  a  storm!  I  thought  I  wan't  never  goin'  to  ketch 
up  with  you-alls.  Dag-gone  that  Danny  Driscoll 
an'  his  crowd!  They  took  the  notion  that  they 
wanted  to  do  a  little  huntin'  on  their  own  hook, 
before  ever  they  jined  with  the  caravan  for  good, 
and  they  borryed  two  of  my  best  men,  Downing  an* 
Terwilliger,  for  to  go  with  them  as  guides.  They 
went  up  around  by  the  Kansas  an'  '11  swing  round 
to  meet  up  with  us  somewheres  nigh  the  Cotton- 
wood  Creek." 

Uncle  Pliny  had  to  stop,  to  mop  the  sweat  from 
his  face,  —  and  to  divest  himself  of  his  "weskit." 

"That  there  Danny  's  a  reg'lar  chip  off  the  old 
block!  Jest  like  his  dad  —  old  Van  Amburgh  Dris- 
coll. He's  the  beatin'est  for  always  gettin'  what 
he  goes  after,  —  in  politics,  an'  ever 'thin'  else.  He's 
got  that  way  with  him,  that  you  can't  say  him  no. 
An'  them  boys  soft-soaped  me  into  thinkin'  I  was  as 
young  as  I  used  to  was,  an'  that  I  could  do  the  work 
of  two  or  three  men,  a-taking  care  of  their  wagons  as 
well  as  my  own!" 

The  sun  was  shining  down  with  an  unusual  fierce- 
ness; there  was  no  breath  of  air  stirring  in  the 
valley.  The  high  hill  invited  us.  By  devious  ways, 
in  straggling  groups,  we  climbed  to  its  summit,  and 
there  we  found  an  almost  level  plain  stretching 
away  to  the  western  horizon.  Only  on  its  eastern 


170     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

face  was  the  hill  abrupt  and  rocky.  Anna  drew  me 
down  beside  her  on  a  thronelike  jutting  mass  of 
stone,  and  we  looked  across  the  valley  to  the  hills 
east  of  the  river  —  all  so  richly  clothed  with  the 
soft  greens  of  June,  now  brightened  by  the  baptism 
of  the  rain.  A  last  vanishing  beam  from  the  low 
setting  sun  lay  upon  the  western  plain:  it  spanned 
the: shadowy  valley,  and  lighted  the  distant  hills 
with  a  more  than  earthly  glory. 

And  Anna  was  singing  —  and  I  with  her,  —  and 
we  did  not  know  that  any  one  heard  us,  till 
Joe-Lu's  violin  took  up  the  heavenly  strain  — 

"Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood, 

Stand  dressed  in  living  green. 

So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood, 

While  Jordan  rolled  between. 

I  had  not  thought  the  men  would  know  or  care 
for  such  music.  I  had  not  thought  that  Joe-Lu 
could  play  it.  But  he  knows  all  of  our  dear  church 
hymns  —  "There  is  a  Fountain,"  "O,  could  I  speak 
the  matchless  worth,"  "Jerusalem  the  Golden," 
"I'm  a  pilgrim,"  and  "I'm  a  stranger."  The  violin 
notes,  thrilling,  strong,  upsoaring,  inspired  and  led 
us.  The  men's  voices  rose  in  a  great  splendid 
unison,  and  their  hearts  were  brought  into  unison. 
The  Sabbath  look  was  upon  their  faces  —  a  gentler, 
kindlier  look.  They  seemed,  indeed,  like  different 


BEYOND    THE    SWELLING    FLOOD  171 

men  as  they  sat  there  quietly  talking,  plucking  the 
grasses,  idly  tossing  the  pebbles  in  their  hands. 

As  darkness  fell  they  went  down  into  the  valley; 
but  our  wagons  were  brought  up  and  our  camp  for 
the  night  was  made  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  so  that 
John  should  not  breathe  the  miasma  of  the  flood- 
drenched  lowlands. 

The  air  was  ineffably  pure  and  sweet.  The  velvet- 
fingered  breeze  tossed  our  hair,  and  touched  our 
cheeks  as  if  in  friendly  playfulness.  There  was  just 
a  faint  edge  of  a  moon  low  down  in  the  southwest, 
and  then  it  slipped  away,  and  left  us  only  the  light 
of  the  stars. 

Jupiter  was  almost  overhead,  shining  with  a  light 
bright  as  moonlight.  Our  shadows  showed  dis- 
tinctly on  the  white  rocks  where  we  were  standing. 
As  I  looked  at  the  brilliant  star,  I  thought  I  could 
discern  two  tiny,  tiny  sparkles  that  might  be  two  of 
its  satellites,  and  so  it  proved.  Mr.  Breunner 
brought  out  his  telescope,  and  sure  enough  there 
they  were  —  two  of  Jupiter's  little  moons !  So  it 
was  really  moonlight  that  we  were  enjoying. 

Hiram  has  a  very  practical  knowledge  of  the  posi- 
tions of  the  heavenly  bodies,  at  the  different  hours  of 
the  night,  and  for  the  different  months  of  the  year, — 
a  knowledge  passed  on  down  to  him  from  his  "grand- 
pappy,"  who  was  a  "shepherd-man"  in  England. 


172     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Hiram  reads  the  time  of  night  from  the  Great 
Dipper  as  it  circles  about  the  North  Star;  and  he 
needs  no  almanac  to  tell  him  the  month,  while  the 
constellations  of  the  Zodiac  swing  in  their  greater 
circle  in  the  sky.  And  he  was  the  one  who  was 
most  eager  of  all  to  learn  the  names,  and  to  study 
the  peculiarities  of  new  star-groups,  as  they  were 
revealed  by  the  telescope,  —  the  Milky- way,  the 
Pleiades,  the  double-double  star  of  Lyra,  and 
Saturn's  rainbow  circlet,  and  the  red  star,  Mars, 
and  the  distant  Neptune. 

Such  nights  are  never  to  be  forgotten! 

We  were  startled  by  the  shrill  call  of  the  bugles 
—  "  Taps ! "  —  the  signal  for  retiring.  The  men  gave 
heed  to  the  summons,  but  Anna  and  I  were  not  yet 
ready  to  leave  a  scene  so  beautiful.  This  spot,  so 
it  seemed,  was  the  very  edge  of  the  world,  for  the 
night-mists  had  settled  heavy  over  all  the  valley, 
and  before  us  was  only  the  pale  shimmering  surface 
of  a  mysterious  sea,  that  stretched  away  to  the  low 
horizon  stars. 

Anna's  arm  was  around  me,  and  as  she  drew  me 
close  to  her  I  felt  her  heart  beating,  in  strange, 
uneven  throbs.  I  felt  a  tear,  not  my  own,  upon  my 
cheek!  I  spoke  her  name.  She  rose  and  brushed 
her  hand  across  her  eyes. 

"You  will  try  to  make  me  believe  that  I  am 


BEYOND    THE    SWELLING    FLOOD  173 

crying,"  she  said,  "but  I  am  not.  I  am  the  happiest 
girl  in  the  world!  Only  I  was  thinking  of  my 
mother  —  so  far  away.  If  we  had  only  a  little 
birch-bark  canoe,  Deya,  we  could  launch  it  upon 
this  wide  sea,  and  the  west  wind  would  blow  us  home, 
back  where  mother  is!" 

I  laughed  at  the  fancy,  and  told  her  that  the  only 
voyage  that  we  were  likely  to  take  to-night  would 
be  the  voyage  to  dreamland.  "And  we  will  not  get 
far  into  dreamland,  if  we  do  not  hurry  to  bed!" 

But  Anna  is  not  to  be  hurried!  It  takes  her  an 
hour  to  make  her  bedtime  toilet!  Her  mother 
brought  her  up  that  way,  and  she  would  not  think 
she  could  close  her  eyes,  if  everything  were  not  done 
just  so. 

I  scrub  my  face,  and  twist  my  hair  up  in  any  kind 
of  a  knot,  slip  into  my  double-gown,  tie  on  my 
night-cap  —  "all  with  a  whew,"  as  sister  Martha 
would  say,  —  and  I  am  ready  to  jump  into  bed! 
But  with  Anna  it  is  like  getting  ready  for  a  party. 
So  much  brushing  of  her  hair  —  so  much  washing, 
and  I  do  not  know  what  all,  —  and  then  she  lays 
herself  down,  with  her  lovely  locks  laid  out  smoothly 
around  her  on  the  pillow,  and  her  beautiful  hands 
sweetly  crossed  upon  her  breast,  not  to  stir  till 
morning  comes.  She  seems  an  aureolaed  saint  — 
but  even  saints  may  get  fretful,  I  suppose,  if  they 


174     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

are  kept  awake  by  owlish  scribblers!     I  must  close 
my  book,  so  Anna  can  close  her  sleepy  eyes. 

We  are  not  to  leave  Council  Grove  till  to-morrow 
morning.  The  dry-goods  are  not  yet  dry  enough 
to  be  rolled  up  and  packed  away  in  the  wagons. 
The  newly-elected  Lieutenants  are  familiarizing 
themselves  with  their  duties,  and  getting  their 
divisions  into  shape.  Will  Aljoe  has  the  first  di- 
vision, Enos  Quackenbos  —  quite  a  dashing  cavalier 
—  has  the  second,  Tom  Haines  has  the  third,  which 
is  our  division,  and  Stoneman  has  the  fourth. 

When  we  get  as  far  as  Pawnee  Rock,  where  the 
danger  from  Indians  is  supposed  to  be  greater,  the 
caravan  will  travel  in  four  lines,  four  abreast,  each 
line  headed  by  its  Lieutenant;  but  until  that  time 
the  train  will  string  out  in  two  long  lines. 

Each  wagon  has  its  own  number  and  place  in  the 
procession,  and  the  teamsters  are  drilled  so  they 
will  know  just  what  to  do  at  the  different  calls  of 
the  bugle  —  to  swing  out,  to  draw  together,  to 
advance  by  twos  and  fours,  to  form  in  double 
circles,  etc. 

From  our  place  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  we  watched 
the  maneuvers,  and  all  that  was  going  on  in  the 
busy  camps  below.  It  seems  that  no  place  could 
be  lovelier  than  this,  with  its  curving  lines  of  hills, 


BEYOND    THE    SWELLING    FLOOD  175 

the  broad  valley  between,  the  winding  river  whose 
course  is  marked  for  miles  by  the  wide  belt  of  oak 
and  elm  and  walnut  trees  —  such  a  grove  as  we  have 
not  seen  since  we  left  the  Missouri  river,  and  whose 
like  we  will  not  see  again  in  all  the  course  of  our 
long  journey.  The  bluff  itself  is  most  picturesque. 
It  rises  a  hundred  feet  above  the  plain,  and  is 
crowned  by  a  ledge  of  rock,  moulded  in  fantastic 
forms.  There  are  ragged  boulders  that  have  sepa- 
rated themselves  from  the  main  ledge;  there  are 
caves  and  grottoes,  and  mountain  gorges,  all  in 
miniature;  and  everywhere  the  surface  of  the  stone 
is  pitted  and  marked  with  veins  and  crannies  and 
crevices  where  hardy  little  ferns  are  growing.  I 
have  some  of  these  pressed  in  the  letter  that  I  have 
written  to  send  home. 

Enos  Quackenbos  tells  me  that  almost  any  day 
now  we  may  meet  a  detachment  of  Uncle  Sam's 
soldiers  riding  eastward,  returning  from  their  patrol 
of  the  trail;  so,  if  we  have  our  letters  ready,  they 
will  take  them  back  to  Fort  Leavenworth,  from 
which  point  there  is  regular  mail-service. 

John  and  Mr.  Breunner  and  I  are  planning  to 
ride  over  to  an  old  Indian  Butte  —  a  high  pile  of 
stones  —  on  one  of  the  hills  to  the  south  of  camp. 
Uncle  Pliny  has  aroused  our  curiosity  in  regard  to 
it.  He  says  it  is  a  monument  to  a  Spanish  mission- 


176     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

ary  who  was  treacherously  murdered  here  —  so  long 
ago  that  his  name  is  no  more  remembered,  even 
among *  the  Indians  who  received  his  ministrations. 
"I  was  up  at  that  Old  Butte  in  '32,  an'  they  was 
marks  on  the  stones  that  the  medicine  men  pre- 
tended they  understood.  Whether  they  did  or  no 
is  another  thing,  but  I  doubt  you'd  find  them  now, 
fur  the  monyment's  been  tore  down  an'  built  up 
again  twicet  or  thrice,  since  that  time  —  curiosity 
hunters,  I  reckon,  looking  for  what  they  could 
find." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
WHERE  FLOWERS  GROW  THICKEST 

WE  went  to  the  Butte  as  we  had  planned  — 
only  Lieutenant  Quackenbos  seemed  to 
think  it  necessary  to  accompany  us.  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  like  him,  but  I  don't.  He  is 
handsome,  and  knows  it  too  well;  is  "keen  as  a 
briar,"  to  use  Uncle  Pliny's  phrase,  but  he  knows 
that  too  well  also.  He  has  held  several  petty 
offices  down  in  Paducah,  and  that  makes  him  think 
he  could  run  the  National  Government!  For  all 
of  his  dashing  debonair  ways,  and  his  constant  smile, 
I  do  not  think  he  is  either  good-natured  or  good- 
hearted.  He  speaks  unkindly  of  everyone.  He 
does  not  "think  much"  of  any  of  his  associates  in 
office.  Stoneman  is  too  slow;  Aljoe  is  ignorant; 
Haines  is  dictatorial;  and  Captain  Harrod  is  too 
cold  and  silent  and  severe. 

"I  have  crossed  the  plains  twice  before  this  time, 
and  I  never  saw  the  men  held  in  like  this!  Guards, 
same  as  if  it  was  a  regular  military  company,  — 


178     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  special  patrols,  —  and  no  going  out  of  camp 
without  the  Captain's  permission!  The  men  will 
not  stand  for  it,  being  curbed  so  tight,  —  special 
when  there  is  no  need  of  it!" 

We  were  riding  ahead  of  the  others,  and  I  pulled 
up  my  pony  and  told  him,  flat,  that  our  lives  were 
far  safer  in  Captain  Harrod's  hands  than  in  the 
hands  of  an  "easier"  man.  I  told  him  we  ought  to 
be  thankful  that  the  captaincy  had  not  fallen  to 
such  a  one,  thankful  that  we  had  a  "hard,  sharp 
man"  to  look  after  our  welfare,  so  we  might  sleep 
in  peace,  in  the  midst  of  dangers.  And  then  I 
waited  for  John,  and  rode  the  rest  of  the  way  with 
him. 

The  Butte  hill  was  a  high  rounded  knoll,  that 
overlooked  a  wide  stretch  of  country,  but  the 
Butte  itself  was  disappointingly  insignificant.  It 
was  only  a  loose  pile  of  stones  carelessly  heaped 
together,  and  we  were  about  to  go,  without  looking 
for  the  stone  with  the  mark  upon  it,  of  which  Uncle 
Pliny  had  spoken,  when  John  stooped  and  picked 
up  something  that  may  have  a  real  historical  value. 
It  was  a  thin  slip  of  tarnished  silver,  attached  to  a 
scrap  of  leather;  and  it  had  a  name  engraved  upon 
it  in  old  Latin  letters  —  the  name  "Padilla."  I 
somehow  feel  sure  that  this  was  part  of  the  cover 
of  an  old  prayer-book,  and  that  the  name  is  that  of 


FLOWERS    GROW    THICKEST     179 

the  Spanish  missionary  who  is  said  to  have  perished 
here. 

Lieutenant  Quackenbos  took  it  upon  himself  to 
pierce  the  piece  of  silver,  and  to  thread  it  upon  his 
watch-guard,  for  me  to  wear  around  my  neck. 
"There  is  nothing  so  lucky  to  keep  about  you  as  a 
piece  of  silver  that  has  been  lost  and  found  again  — 
the  older  it  is  the  better."  And  he  showed  me  a 
battered  ancient  silver  coin  that  he  always  carries 
in  his  pocket.  I  do  not  believe  in  such  a  "lucky- 
piece,"  but  I  am  wearing  mine,  nevertheless. 

Danny  Driscoll  and  his  friends  have  arrived  in 
camp.  We  found  them  waiting  for  us  at  Diamond 
Springs,  yesterday.  Enos  Quackenbos  does  not 
like  Danny  and  the  rest  of  them.  So  very  strange! 
He  says  they  are  "foolish  rattle-pates."  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  while  they  are  lively  and  gay,  they 
are  a  sensible  lot  of  boys,  well-born  and  well-bred. 

Bert  Fones  is  of  the  Alden  Mayflower  stock,  and 
his  father  is  one  of  the  richest  men  in  Missouri,  since 
he  associated  himself  in  business  with  the  Scarritts 
of  St.  Louis.  Farrell  Montgomery  was  the  "class- 
poet"  at  Missouri  University  last  year,  and  he  is  a 
cousin  of  Danny's.  Of  course  Danny  is  the  leader 
among  them,  he  could  not  be  anything  else,  seeing 
that  he  is  old  Van  Amburgh  Driscoll's  son  —  Van 
Amburgh  Driscoll,  the  most  popular  and  influential 


180     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

of  Missouri's  representatives  in  the  National  Con- 
gress. These  three,  and  Twank  Thomas,  are 
inseparable;  and  when  Twank's  father  decided  to 
send  him  to  Santa  Fe  to  get  acquainted  with  his 
half-Spanish  cousins,  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion 
that  the  others  would  have  to  go  also.  They  are 
looking  forward  to  three  months  of  solid  pleasure. 
Their  hunting-trip  was  a  great  success,  and  Danny 
has  brought  with  him  the  antlers  to  prove  that  he 
killed  two  splendid  buck-deer. 

"Das  make  me  mad!  For  w'y  dat  John  not  get 
to  fin'  no  deer  lak  dat?  I  see  elk-sign  dis  mornin', 
an'  if  John  kill  one  elk,  dat  be  more  better  dan  two 
buck-deer." 

So  Franchy  exclaimed;  and  he  promptly  ar- 
ranged that  a  little  expedition  of  picked  hunters 
should  go  out,  and  John  with  them.  I  do  not  know 
how  they  managed  it  that  John  got  the  chance  to 
kill  his  elk,  but  it  happened,  somehow.  And 
Franchy  was  prouder  for  John  than  he  would  have 
been  for  himself. 

"Dat  boy  only  see  de  nose  of  de  big  feller,  an'  'e 
lif '  'is  rifle  up,  slow  an'  steady,  lak  'e  been  shoot  de 
big  game  for  t'irty  year!  Yaas,  you  may  believe 
me!  An'  de  gun  speak  sharp,  an'  short,  Bang!  De 
bullet  go  straight  to  de  heart!  'E  joomp,  one  time, 
an'  drap  in  'is  track  dead,  an'  never  keek  again! 


FLOWERS    GROW    THICKEST     181 

I  show  you  'im,  an'  you  say  dat  boy  make  one  fine 
firs'-class  shot!" 

When  Auguste  and  Franchy  were  bringing  in  the 
big  animal,  in  crossing  a  log  over  the  creek  Franchy 
slipped  and  went,  souse!  into  the  water,  so  his  buck- 
skins were  wet  through  and  through.  Rob  per- 
suaded him  that  he  ought  to  borrow  somebody 
else's  pantaloons  and  let  his  dry  —  and  Rob  and 
John  promised  to  see  to  the  drying!  A  pretty  trick 
they  did  with  those  trousers! 

Buckskin  has  the  charming  quality  of  retaining, 
after  it  is  dry,  whatever  shape  it  is  pulled  into  when 
it  is  wet,  and  Rob  and  John  pulled  and  stretched 
those  articles  all  out  of  shape  —  each  leg  as  wide  as 
a  Highlander's  petticoat,  and  as  short!  They  are 
going  to  put  them  where  Franchy  will  be  sure  to 
lay  his  hands  on  them  the  first  thing  in  the  morning, 
and  then  they  will  call  him,  and  have  a  crowd  there 
to  see  him  come  out  in  his  fancy  costume!  They 
are  doubling  themselves  up  in  spasms  of  unholy 
glee  thinking  of  the  ridiculous  figure  he  will  cut,  — 
and  that  is  my  dear  brother's  way  of  expressing  his 
gratitude  after  Franchy's  getting  that  elk  for  him! 

Buckskin 's  the  only  wear.  All  who  do  not  possess 
buckskin  suits  are  having  them  made,  — -  that  is, 
Danny,  and  his  crowd,  and  John  —  and  Deya.  Uncle 
Pliny  looked. through  the  different  packs  of  skins 


182     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

that  were  offered  us,  and  found  some  that  were 
dressed  to  a  beautiful  soft  white  finish,  that  he  said 
would  do  for  a  suit  for  me,  and  he  has  been  giving 
me  lessons  in  the  making  of  it.  It  is  to  be  "genuine 
Indian,"  exactly  according  to  the  pattern  of  a 
Cheyenne  Indian  maiden's  outfit.  I  am  sewing  it 
with  sinew  thread,  —  and  I  suppose  I  should  be 
thankful  that  Uncle  Pliny  does  not  insist  on  my 
using  bone  needles!  There  is  a  neat  little  pattern 
of  bead  embroidery  around  the  slashed  neck  and 
sleeves.  It  was  Uncle  Pliny  who  showed  me  how 
to  do  it,  and  then  when  I  had  it  most  done  he  looked 
at  it  and  laughed  and  chuckled,  and  wiped  his  eyes, 
and  laughed  again.  And  when  I  asked  him  what 
there  was  so  funny  about  it,  he  said: 

"It  ain't  the  work.  You're  a-doin'  of  it  all 
right!  But  I  jest  happened  to  think  about  the 
meanin'  of  that  thar  pattren!  Yes,  sure!  They's 
a  meanin'  to  eyer'  pattren  a  squaw  makes,  whether 
it's  beadin'  or  basket-weavin',  or  blankets  or  what 
not.  An'  the  Injuns  everywhar  understands  it, 
same  as  they  all  understand  the  sign-language. 
But,  honest-to-goodness,  I  never  thought  'bout  the 
meanin'  to  this  one,  till  this  identical  minute,  — 
if  ye  must  know,  it  means  'Young  squaw  roamin5 
acrost  the  earth  lookin'  for  a  tent  an'  a  husband!' 
Honest-to-goodness!  When  I  was  a-stayin'  with 


FLOWERS    GROW    THICKEST    183 

the  Cheyennes,  that  time  they  had  me  prisoner,  I 
seen  'em  workin'  it  on  the  jacket  for  one  of  the 
young  gals.  An'  'twa'n't  looked  upon  as  no  dis- 
credit to  her.  It's  nateral  enough." 

If  John  had  heard  this  I  would  never  have  heard 
the  last  of  it,  but  I  could  afford  to  laugh  with  Uncle 
Pliny.  I  told  him  I  thought  it  a  very  nice  pattern 
indeed,  —  and  so  appropriate!  I  do  not  believe  a 
word  of  what  he  said  about  the  meaning  of  it,  though 
it  was  all  true  enough  about  his  having  been  a 
prisoner  with  the  Cheyennes.  He  and  three  others 
were  kept  in  captivity  for  weeks,  and  sometimes 
they  were  treated  well,  and  sometimes  they  were 
"given  a  taste  of  the  torture."  The  regular  troops 
came  upon  the  camp  and  rescued  them,  but  one 
poor  fellow,  young  and  bold  and  desperate,  had 
made  a  dash  for  liberty,  and  had  been  followed  and 
murdered  —  and  scalped!  Such  things  do  happen, 
even  though  the  plains  are  more  or  less  regularly 
patrolled  by  our  troops. 

They  say  that  every  heap  of  stones  beside  the 
trail  covers  the  grave  of  a  white  man,  —  and  I  had 
only  thought  of  them  as  the  places  where  grew  most 
abundantly  roses  and  primroses,  and  the  sensitive- 
brier  !  This  last  —  the  sensitive-brier  —  is  the  most 
interesting  plant  that  grows  on  the  prairie.  Its 
blossoms  arc  soft  clustered  balls  of  rose-red  stamens, 


184     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

powdered  over  with  grains  of  golden  pollen.  The 
petals  are  "inconspicuous  or  wanting."  But  it  is  not 
the  blossom  that  makes  the  plant  remarkable.  It 
is  sensitive,  as  living  creatures  are  —  sensitive  to 
light,  sensitive  to  touch.  When  the  world  is  dark, 
it  shuts  its  eyes  and  sleeps.  Its  leaflets  fold  together, 
palm  to  palm,  as  little  hands  are  folded  in  prayer. 
The  leaf -stem  droops  heavily  against  the  stalk,  as 
heavy  eyelids  droop  and  close.  When  the  daylight 
comes  again,  it  wakens,  —  unclasps  its  hands,  and 
lifts  up  its  arms  to  the  sky.  But  always  it  is  timid 
and  afraid.  Its  leaves  shiver  and  close  at  the 
slightest  touch  —  at  the  brushing  of  the  meadow- 
lark's  wing,  even  at  the  trembling  of  the  ground 
under  our  horses'  feet,  as  if  it  feared  that  we  would 
ruthlessly  trample  it  to  earth. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"DE  WOLF  AN9  DE  COYOTE,  DEY  NOT 
WAIT" 

FRANCHY  is  still  wearing  borrowed  clothes, 
while  Rob  is  laboring  over  those  buckskin  trou- 
sers, to  bring  them  back  into  proper  shape. 
The  trick  did  not  turn  out  quite  as  Rob  had  planned. 
Franchy  good-naturedly  took  another  man's  turn 
at  guard  duty,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  if  he 
tried  to  put  the  trousers  on  or  not,  no  one  was  the 
wiser,  for  somehow  in  the  morning  they  came  to  be 
by  Rob's  side,  and  his  trousers  were  gone  —  and 
Franchy  was  there,  and  it  was  his  time  to  laugh! 

"Dat  was  sure  fonny  sight!  'E  so  beeg,  an'  dem 
so  short!  Dat  was  de  mos'  re-dic-u-lous !  'E  be 
not  so  smart,  anodder  time,  I  t'ink!" 

The  boys  have  been  complaining  of  the  dullness 
of  camp  life. 

"No  Indians!  No  buffalo!  No  nothing  but 
prairie-dogs  to  make  the  landscape  lively,  and 
antelope  so  tame  they  almost  come  when  you 
whistle!" 


186     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

They  had  been  telling  us  every  day  that  we  would 
be  sure  to  meet  someone  going  east,  —  soldiers  or 
travelers  or  trappers,  —  but  it  was  not  until  to-day 
that  the  expected  happened.  A  shabby  procession 
of  a  dozen  sun-dried  rickety  wagons  drawn  by 
shabby  skinny  oxen  appeared  around  the  turn  of  a 
hill.  They  swerved  aside  to  the  north,  apparently 
not  intending  to  stop,  even  for  an  exchange  of 
civilities.  Danny  and  Hiram  and  some  of  the  others 
rode  out  to  intercept  them,  as  we  did  not  wish  to 
lose  this  chance  to  send  our  letters  back  to  the 
States,  "and  when  they  saw  there  was  money  in  the 
job  they  began  to  show  themselves  more  friendly 
and  communicative,"  Danny  said.  "They  told  us 
they  had  wintered  out  by  Bent's  Fort,  trying  to  do 
a  little  trading  with  the  Indians  of  that  section, 
but  they  said  the  Government  was  against  them; 
they  had  no  protection,  and  the  Indians  were  so 
uncertain,  and  seemed  so  inclined  to  do  them  harm, 
they  had  packed  up  what  was  left  of  their  outfit, 
and  now  they  are  going  back  to  Kentucky,  to  stay 
there.  They  had  one  bit  of  good  news  for  us.  They 
say  we  will  find  scattered  herds  of  buffalo  all  the  way 
from  Big  Cow  Creek  to  the  Caches!" 

A  caravan  always  expects  to  procure  on  the  plains 
sufficient  buffalo  meat  to  give  variety  to  its  bill- 
of-fare.  There  is  nothing  that  stays  sweet  and 


DE    WOLF    AN'    DE    COYOTE      187 

eatable  longer  than  well-cured  "buffalo-jerk."  When 
we  get  down  into  the  desert  country  we  will  need  it, 
though  now  we  are  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land. 
Every  day  we  are  served  with  the  choicest  of  game 
—  venison  and  antelope  steaks,  and  fowl  of  every 
description,  cranes  and  ducks  and  turkey,  all  we 
care  for.  ] 

The  fowls  are  cooked  Indian  fashion,  with  the 
head  and  legs  and  feathers  left  on.  They  are  care- 
fully drawn,  and  stuffed  with  bread-crumbs  and 
bacon  and  savory  herbs,  and  then  the  bird  is  thickly 
plastered  over  with  mud  —  just  plain  mud  —  and 
deposited  in  a  "hot-pit"  and  covered  over  with 
ashes  and  coals  and  earth.  In  the  morning  the  mud 
is  baked  to  a  hard  crust,  like  brick,  and  when  that 
is  cracked  and  peeled  off,  the  skin  and  feathers  come 
with  it,  leaving  only  the  juicy  and  tender  flesh.  It 
is  cookery  in  perfection. 

Anna  is  quite  reconciled  to  our  having  a  man 
cook.  At  first  she  did  not  like  the  idea  of  having  a 
man's  hands  in  the  biscuit  dough,  if  she  had  to  eat 
the  biscuits;  but  she  is  satisfied  that  Mr.  Williams 
is  as  neat  and  particular,  in  regard  to  his  duties  as 
cook,  as  she  herself  would  be.  He  takes  an  interest 
in  his  work,  and  likes  to  show  us  how  he  keeps  his 
pots  and  pans  shining,  and  no  one  could  be  more 
accommodating  than  he. 


188     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

To-night  he  made  a  kettle  of  molasses  taffy,  and 
we  made  a  childish  frolic  of  the  occasion,  inviting 
Danny  and  Farrell  and  Twank  and  Burt  Fones 
over  to  help  pull  the  candy,  and  eat  it. 

There  was  a  smooth  bit  of  ground  there,  covered 
with  a  thin  fine  mat  of  buffalo  grass,  slippery  to  the 
foot  as  a  waxed  floor,  and  the  boys  suggested  that  we 
might  have  a  dance.  Anna  and  I  agreed  with  them, 
and  said  it  would  be  lovely,  if  only  there  were  two 
more  ladies,  to  make  a  set  complete.  It  was  non- 
sense, forgotten  as  soon  as  said!  But  fifteen  min- 
utes afterward  two  charming  and  coquettish  maidens 
blushingly  greeted  the  company  with  two  sweeping 
and  graceful  curtsys! 

Burt  Fones  and  Farrell  Montgomery  had  gone 
to  their  wagons,  and  borrowed  from  their  stock  of 
goods  some  of  the  finery  that  had  been  destined  for 
the  senoritas  of  Santa  Fe.  They  were  arrayed  in 
full  flowing  skirts,  and  mantillas  —  and  curls! 
They  were  real  Spanish  maidens,  and  could  speak 
only  Spanish,  and  we  were  obliged  to  frame  our 
replies  in  that  same  tongue! 

Danny,  with  his  tile  under  his  arm,  took  pretty 
Farrell  as  his  partner,  and  they  gravely  began  the 
steps  of  the  minuet;  but  in  the  middle  of  the 
stately  dance  Joe-Lu  —  at  a  sign  from  Danny,  I 
suspect  —  dashed  into  the  gay  strains  of  "The 


DE    WOLF    AN'    DE    COYOTE      189 

Ladies'  Delight,"  and  Danny  cried  out,  "Choose 
ladies  for  the  Reel!"  and  seized  me,  and  swung  me 
into  position  at  the  head  of  the  set.  Ernst  Breun- 
ner  chose  black-eyed  languishing  Farrell,  and  John 
took  Burt  Fones,  the  sweet  girl  in  the  pink  petti- 
coats, and  Hiram  and  Anna  made  up  the  set. 

The  fine  soft  mat  of  the  buffalo  grass  was  under 
our  springing  feet;  the  crescent  moon  was  swinging 
overhead;  the  music  thrilled  in  our  hearts;  its  full 
current  swept  us  off  our  feet,  and  dance  we  must 
whether  or  no,  even  as  the  leaves  on  a  bough  must 
dance  when  the  strong  winds  blow!  "Lady  Howe's 
Fancy,"  "Sir  Roger  de  Coverly,"  "Virginia  Reel"- 
the  music  came  quicker  and  faster,  till  we  were 
breathless.  It  was  an  all- too-lively  performance. 
Anna's  blue  eyes  were  shining  like  stars,  and  her 
cheeks  were  like  twin  roses.  When  John  and  pretty 
Burt  were  "coming  down  the  middle,"  Anna  and  I 
joined  hands  and  danced  out  of  the  set,  and  left 
the  boys  to  finish  it  as  they  could  —  and  the  bugle 
sounded  "Taps!" 

Toward  midnight  I  heard  men  shouting  to  each 
other  in  tones  that  made  me  thrill  with  fear,  and 
Hob  ran  by  and  called  to  us  the  dreadful  news. 
Leonard  Morris  had  been  murdered!  Lieutenant 
Quackenbos,  with  three  of  his  men,  was  making  the 


190     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

patrol  of  his  section  of  the  camp,  when  it  was  pro- 
posed that  they  should  ride  out  to  the  hill  on  the 
north.  Four  left  the  camp,  and  only  three  of  them 
returned.  When  they  missed  Leonard  Morris  they 
thought  he  was  lagging  behind,  and  they  waited  and 
called  him,  and  then  his  horse  galloped  by,  riderless, 
with  blood  on  the  saddle,  and  in  the  horse's  neck 
an  Indian  war-arrow. 

Indians  about  to  attack  the  caravan!  That  was 
the  word  that  was  passed  about  among  the  men,  and 
they  began  to  look  to  their  arms  and  defenses, 
though  the  Captain  and  Franz  Bach  were  both 
agreed  that  this  could  not  be  the  act  of  a  war-party. 
Warriors  planning  to  attack  the  camp  would  give  no 
such  plain  warning  of  their  presence.  It  was  more 
likely  the  work  of  a  solitary  Indian  runner  who  had 
unexpectedly  found  himself  in  a  position  where  he 
could  wreak  vengeance  on  a  hated  paleface. 

It  seemed  a  hopeless  task  to  try  to  find  the  body, 
and  a  most  dangerous  one,  as  well.  No  one  was 
willing  to  volunteer  for  the  duty,  until  Joe-Lu  pushed 
his  way  to  the  front. 

"Wat  dis  you  say?  Wait  till  daylight,  eh?  De 
wolf  an'  de  coyote,  dey  not  wait!  An'  maybe  dat 
boy  no  daid.  Wat  den?  I  go  myself!  My  dog, 
'e  go  wid  me!  Banff,  'e  follow  dat  blood-trail!" 

He  was  not  to  be  dissuaded,  though  Franchy 


DE    WOLF    A N'DE    COYOTE      191 

begged  and  implored;  but  he  saw  that  this  was 
useless. 

"Wat  I  say  is  not'ing!  'E  go,  jus'  de  same,  for 
all  I  say!  'E  always  lak  dat.  Eef  dere  be  one  in 
danger  dat  Joe-Lu  boun'  to  go!  Save  my  life  dat- 
a-way two  time.  Yaas !  An  tree  four  odder  man ! 
'E  dat  rackless,  cain't  do  not'ing  wid  'im,  'ceptin' 
to  let  'imgo!" 

Joe-Lu  was  not  heeding.  Just  as  soon  as  he  had 
the  Captain's  permission  he  dropped  down  into  the 
tall  grass,  Banff  by  his  side,  and  disappeared. 

The  men  listened  and  waited,  —  fancied  they 
heard  a  cry  for  help,  —  told  each  other  in  whispers 
that  it  was  but  the  cry  of  a  wolf,  —  waited,  —  and 
grew  white  with  apprehension. 

The  moon  came  out  from  behind  a  cloud,  and 
they  saw  Joe-Lu  returning,  bending  under  the 
weight  of  the  body  which  he  carried  across  his 
shoulders  as  a  hunter  carries  a  deer. 

The  caravan  is  not  to  be  delayed.  We  will  leave 
this  place  to-morrow  morning,  only  a  little  later 
than  usual. 

There  will  be  another  heap  of  stones  by  the  way- 
side —  a  heap  of  stones  where  wild  roses  will  grow 
and  bloom! 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  DROP  TO  KEEP  OUT  THE  COLD        i 

SINCE  we  came  out  on  the  plains  we  do  not 
hear    Joe-Lu's    violin    as    often    as    we    did. 
While  we  were  on  the  river  he  played  every 
night,  so  that  our  dreams  were  but  vagaries  set 
to  music. 

All  of  the  negro  boy's  thoughts  and  affections 
seem  to  be  centered  upon  the  old  gray  wolf-dog, 
Banff,  whom  he  found  two  weeks  ago  by  the  side  of 
the  trail  —  dying,  as  he  thought,  of  a  gunshot 
wound.  It  looked  to  be  one  of  the  big  gray  timber- 
wolves,  but  when  he  went  up  to  it,  to  shoot  it,  so 
that  it  should  not  linger  and  suffer,  it  turned  its 
head  to  him  and  tried  to  lick  his  hand.  Whether 
it  was  wolf  or  wolf-dog,  it  had  somewhere  learned  * 
that  human  beings  could  be  kind,  and  Joe-Lu 
lifted  the  poor  creature  in  his  arms  and  brought  it 
back  to  camp,  and  nursed  and  fed  it;  and  now  it 
follows  him  everywhere,  "lak  an  oF  house-dog," 
as  Franchy  says. 

"Joe-Lu  nevair  take  lak  dat  to  no  common  oF 
dog.    It  is  jus'  dat  dis  is  a  wolf  —  a  sure  'nough 


KEEP    OUT    THE    COLD  193 

wolf!  An'  'e  let  Joe-Lu  do  ever't'ing  wid  'im,  an* 
not  let  no  odder  man  touch  'im.  Me,  I  not  get  too 
near  'im!  An'  de  men,  dey  would  lak  to  make 
frien's  wid  'im,  sence  las'  night,  w'en  'e  an'  Joe-Lu 
bring  in  dat  Leonard  boy.  But  'e  not  make  frien's! 
'E  show  dat  'e  be  wolf!  'E  show  dem  w'ite  fangs, 
an'  roll  'is  red  eyes!  Dey  keep  away  from  dat 
Banff!  An'  Joe-Lu  lak  it  dat  no  one  make  too 
familiar  wid  'is  dog." 

But  Joe-Lu  has  taught  him  that  Anna  and  I  may 
lay  our  hands  upon  his  head  if  we  choose,  yet  we 
do  not  often  avail  ourselves  of  the  privilege.  They 
are  saying  in  the  camp  that  the  dog  Banff  is  worth 
more  to  the  caravan  than  any  dozen  men  who  could 
be  picked  —  the  best  guard  that  we  could  possi- 
bly have.  If  it  had  not  been  for  him  Leonard 
Morris's  body  would  not  have  received  Christian 
burial.  Poor  Leonard!  His  life  sacrificed  so  need- 
lessly! The  whole  blame  is  upon  the  shoulders  of 
Lieutenant  Quackenbos.  He  is  repenting  his  fool- 
hardiness,  and  his  disregard  of  the  rules  of  the 
camp, — repenting  in  sackcloth  and  ashes;  but  that 
will  not  bring  young  Morris  back!  The  people  of 
the  camp  have  turned  against  him  as  if  he  had  pur- 
posely led  his  friends  into  danger.  He  understands 
the  feeling  among  them,  and  at  once  resigned  his 
position  as  Lieutenant. 


194     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

It  was  supposed  that  Franz  Bach  would  be  elected 
to  fill  his  place.  But  elections  are  not  certainties 
until  votes  are  counted.  Half  in  mischief,  not 
thinking  that  they  would  take  him  at  his  word, 
Burt  Fones  slyly  insinuated  here  and  there  that  it 
would  not  be  a  bad  thing  to  put  in  a  vote  for  old 
Van  Amburgh  Driscoll's  son,  Danny!  And  each 
one  smiled  to  himself  and  said,  "Why  not?"  and  the 
word  was  passed  along.  The  men  are  many  of 
them  from  Missouri,  and  in  Missouri  "Driscoll" 
is  a  name  to  conjure  with.  So  Burt  Fones  discov- 
ered to  his  surprise,  and  so  it  was  that  Danny  was 
elected  Lieutenant  of  "the  2nd." 

"He's  his  daddy's  son  all  right, — a  chip  off  the 
old  block,  —  and  he'll  run  this  here  Division  good 
as  any  of  'em.  It  will  tickle  his  old  man  most  to 
death  to  know  we  done  the  boy  the  honor." 

So  the  men  said;  and  Danny  is  justifying  the 
predictions  in  his  favor.  He  accepted  the  position 
gracefully,  and  then  he  told  them  that  "the  2nd" 
was  to  be  bossed  by  no  single  Dictator,  but  by  the 
boss  Triumvirate,  —  himself,  and  Franz  Bach,  and 
Uncle  Pliny  Thompson. 

"Them  three  makes  a  strong  team,"  Hiram  said. 
"Danny's  got  the  git-up-and-git,  and  the  other  two 
will  keep  him  on  the  right  track.  The  other  divisions 
will  have  to  hump  themselves  if  they  keep  up." 


KEEP    OUT    THE    COLD  195 

Hiram's  words  had  a  quick  fulfilment.  This 
afternoon,  when  the  "Norther"  struck  us,  Danny's 
section  was  the  first  one  in  place,  and  his  Division 
suffered  less  than  any  other.  Haines  was  too 
excitable  to  give  the  proper  orders;  Stoneman  was 
too  deliberate  and  slow;  Lieutenant  Aljoe  was 
"all  at  sea";  and  only  "the  2nd"  was  prepared  for 
the  storm  when  it  fell  upon  the  camp.  The  wind 
was  nothing  less  than  a  hurricane,  and  with  it  came 
a  phenomenally  sudden  drop  in  the  temperature,  — 
from  above  ninety  degrees,  down  to  forty-three, 
and  all  within  an  hour. 

There  is  something  terrifying  —  appalling  —  in  a 
change  so  great,  and  so  sudden,  as  this.  It  be- 
numbs the  faculties  and  paralyzes  the  body.  Anna 
and  I  could  have  done  something  to  have  made 
things  in  the  carriage  more  secure,  and  ourselves 
more  comfortable,  but  we  did  not  think  of  trying 
to  help  ourselves.  We  sat,  huddled  together,  shak- 
ing and  shivering,  doing  nothing  at  all,  —  waiting 
for  something  to  happen.  And  happen  it  did! 

There  was  an  all-pervading  hungry  roar  —  as  if 
a  thousand  lions  were  voicing  their  impatience  to 
devour  us!  I  whimpered,  with  my  head  against 
Anna's  breast.  "It's  worse  than  Jack's  Giants 
after  us!  We  will  be  broken  to  bits,  and  our  bones 
ground  up,  and  scattered  over  the  prairie!" 


196     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

We  were  in  mortal  terror.  There  were  shrieking, 
grinding  noises  everywhere  about  us,  —  wheels 
grinding  on  wheels,  chains  clattering  and  grinding 
on  each  other,  bolts  twisting  and  grinding  in  their 
sockets. 

There  was  a  tearing,  rending  sound,  —  a  crash ! 
The  top  of  the  carriage  was  gone  from  over  our 
heads!  The  wind  caught  it  and  whirled  it  upwards. 
Like  a  great  awkward  ungainly  bird  it  swooped  and 
turned  and  flapped  its  black  wings,  and,  mount- 
ing higher  and  higher,  it  disappeared  in  a  thick 
cloud.  The  carriage  under  us  gave  an  upward  leap, 
as  if  it  would  follow.  We  were,  ourselves,  in  the 
air,  and  the  ground  was  heaving  beneath  us,  —  and 
the  earth  rose  and  beat  against  us.  But  it  was  some- 
thing solid  to  cling  to,  and  we  embraced  it  fervently, 
and  dug  our  fingers  into  the  matted  grass  of  the 
sod,  —  and  we  lay  there,  hazily  thankful  that  we 
were  not  riding  on  the  wings  of  the  storm,  thankful 
that  we  were  still  alive.  I  did  not  think  about 
John,  or  anyone,  till  Hiram  came  and  found  us. 
He  took  his  "big  girl"  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
to  his  wagon,  and  I  stumbled  along  after  them, 
holding  on  to  his  jacket,  and  the  wind  buffeted  us 
so  that  we  could  only  go  forward  by  loops  and 
zigzags  —  and  twice  we  fell. 

We  were  in  Hiram's  wagon,  in  a  nest  made  in 


KEEP    OUT    THE    COLD  197 

the  high-piled  bales  of  goods,  and  we  drew  a  soft 
robe  over  us,  and,  though  it  was  early  afternoon, 
we  slept !  Nestled  under  the  warm  cover,  our  frozen 
blood  again  began  to  flow  freely  in  our  veins  and 
with  the  warmth  there  came  courage  to  our  hearts, 
so  we  were  no  more  afraid  of  the  fierce  wind. 

When  we  awoke  we  heard  the  strangest  noises 
outside.  We  raised  the  back  curtain  and  saw  the 
cook-wagon  performing  wild  antics,  leaping  and 
straining  at  the  chains  that  bound  it.  The  cup- 
board doors  at  the  back  were  swinging  and  banging, 
and  the  tin  dishes  were  all  abroad  —  pans  and 
plates  and  spoons  rattling  about  us  like  hail!  Mr. 
Williams,  the  cook,  was  there  dancing  up  and  down 
—  crazy-drunk!  He  had  "taken  a  drop  to  keep 
out  the  cold"  —  and  the  drop  had  become  a  fiery 
stream  flowing  down  his  throat.  He  did  not  in  the 
least  know  what  he  was  doing,  and  he  was  screaming 
and  shouting,  and  singing  camp-meeting  hymns,  — 
and  the  Deacon  had  promised  him  a  thrashing  if 
ever  he  drank  another  drop! 

I  do  not  know  if  he  received  the  thrashing,  but 
he  got  something  bad  enough  to  make  up  for  it  if 
he  missed  it,  —  a  most  dreadful  dose  of  medicine, 
that  the  Deacon  with  his  own  hands  prepared  for 
him!  Hiram  says  he  is  "the  color  of  a  dirty  mop-rag, 
and  with  just  about  as  much  backbone  to  him,  and 


198     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

I'm  making  a  bold  guess  that  he  won't  break  out, 
and  break  his  word  again,  this  trip!" 

The  men  were  going  on  about  their  work  as  if  the 
gale  were  the  gentlest  of  breezes.  Hiram  was  busier 
than  anyone,  repairing  our  wrecked  carriage  and  all. 
He  fitted  the  carriage-body  with  wagon-bows  and 
covered  it  with  canvas,  and  put  up  hooks  for  our 
belongings,  and  made  it  all  nicer  than  it  was  at  first. 

Anna  and  Mr.  Breunner  and  I  got  the  supper  for 
our  section,  in  the  enforced  absence  of  the  cook. 
We  did  not  know  where  anything  was,  and  John  had 
to  pick  the  dishes  up  out  of  the  grass.  They  were 
scattered  far  and  wide.  We  filled  our  eyes  with 
smoke,  and  Mr.  Breunner  stepped  backward  into 
the  pail  of  hot  coffee  and  burned  his  foot,  and 
Hiram  scolded  us  for  throwing  out  the  coffee.  "You 
girls  are  that  finicky  and  wasteful,"  he  said  —  and 
the  pancakes  were  so  peppered  with  flying  dirt  that 
we  had  to  smother  them  with  molasses  in  order  to 
eat  them;  but  I  doubt  if  we  ever  went  to  a  party 
that  we  enjoyed  half  so  much.  Anna  would  be  glad 
if  Mr.  Williams  were  disabled  for  a  week,  just  so  we 
could  go  on  with  the  cooking. 

The  boys  built  up  a  bush  shelter  against  the 
wagons,  and  near  to  the  fire,  and  we  wrapped  our- 
selves in  blankets  and  sat  with  our  toes  in  the  warm 
ashes,  listening  to  stories  the  men  were  telling. 


KEEP    OUT    THE    COLD  199 

Haines  suddenly  turned  to  John  and  asked  what 
had  happened  between  him  and  Downing.  John 
had  not  mentioned  it,  but  Haines  had  heard  of 
it  from  the  Captain.  John  replied  that  last  night 
when  he  had  been  doing  guard-duty,  he  had  taken 
Downing,  under  arrest,  to  the  Captain. 

"You  know  it  was  the  first  time  that  they  have 
let  me  go  on  guard.  Naturally  you  don't  feel  any 
too  easy  in  your  mind  when  you  know  there  are 
Indians  around,  and  you  are  walking  up  and  down 
in  the  dark,  and  the  grass  whispers  'sh-sh-sh'  on 
every  side  of  you,  and  you  see  something  move 
out  in  the  bushes,  and  you  have  got  to  walk 
up  to  it,  bold  as  brass.  It  is  only  a  paper  blow- 
ing in  the  wind,  —  but  the  next  time  maybe  it 
will  be  an  Indian,  creeping  up  on  you!  And  then 
you  are  sure  that  you  do  see  someone  sneaking 
along,  and  you  look  and  look,  —  and  you  know  it  is 
a  person !  That  is  the  way  it  was  last  night.  Don't 
you  think  I  wasn't  scared!  My  knees  had  kinks 
in  them  so  I  could  not  stand  up  straight,  and  I  lost 
my  breath  for  three  minutes !  I  don't  know  how  it 
was  I  happened  to  think  of  the  Captain,  just  then, 
but  I  did,  and  the  thought  of  him  kind  of  braced  me 
up;  and  I  found  that  I  could  walk,  and  raise  my 
gun,  and  I  cried  out,  'Who  goes  there?'  It  sounded 
queer  —  lots  louder  than  I  meant  to  say  it,  but  I 


200     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

said  it!  And  the  man  dropped  behind  a  bush,  till 
he  heard  the  click  of  my  gun;  then  he  got  up  and 
came  to  me,  and  laughed  as  if  it  was  a  joke  on  me! 
It  was  Downing. 

"He  said  he  heard  the  stock  thrashing  around  as 
if  there  were  something  wrong,  and  he  got  up  to 
see  about  it,  —  but  that  did  not  explain  about  his 
not  answering  me  when  I  first  spoke  to  him.  He 
tried  to  laugh  me  out  of  taking  him  to  the  Captain, 
but  I  told  him  that  was  the  orders.  The  Captain 
gave  him  a  sharp  reprimand,  and  told  him  that  the 
reprimand  would  have  been  for  me  if  I  had  not 
done  as  I  did.  And  Downing  is  mad  at  me  yet,  but 
that  makes  no  difference  to  me  when  the  Captain 
thinks  I  am  right." 

I  think  John  did  well,  —  and  it  was  all  the  braver 
because  he  was  really  afraid,  inside,  and  never  let 
Downing  guess  it.  The  boy  is  growing  so  manly, 
and  he  seems  so  well.  But  Franz  Bach  and  the 
Deacon  are  saying  that  he  ought  to  stay  out  in  this 
western  country  for  a  year  at  least.  I  think  they 
are  planning  for  him  to  go  with  Ernst  Breunner, 
into  Mexico. 

If  John  goes  to  Mexico,  and  Anna  stays  with 
Hiram  in  Santa  Fe,  and  I  have  to  go  back  home  in 
the  caravan,  without  either  of  them 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHEN  KNIGHTS  RODE  OUT  IN 
TOURNAMENT 

SATURDAY  the  wind  was  again  blowing  in 
furious  gusts,  and  the  temper  of  the  teams 
was  all  upset;  they  were  restless  and  frac- 
tious, and,  as  the  men  said,  "The  whole  caballada 
were  ready  for  a  general  estampeda." 

The  Spanish  sounds  no  more  strange  to  our  ears. 
Twank  has  a  fancy  for  speaking  it  altogether, 
though  half  the  time  we  have  to  guess  at  his  mean- 
ing. There  are  a  hundred  convenient  catch-phrases 
that  have  insinuated  themselves  into  our  every-day 
speech,  and  we  use  them  without  thinking  whether 
they  are  English  or  Spanish  —  sQuien  sake?  No 
sdbe  !  6  Como  estd  V?  Buenos  dias  !  Buenas  noches  ! 
Si,  senor!  No,  senor!  No  es  posible!  —  and  the 
like. 

Our  oxen  are  American,  Missouri  bred  and  born, 
but  they  have  learned  the  Spanish,  too!  When 
they  get  into  difficulties  the  men  urge  them  to  their 
best  endeavors  by  volleys  of  blistering  Spanish  oaths, 


202     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

—  a  goad  as  effective  as  the  whips  that  are  laid 
upon  them  so  mercilessly. 

John  and  I  are  so  fond  of  the  oxen  that  belong  to 
us,  the  ones  that  draw  our  wagons.  They  are  such 
beautiful  creatures,  and  seem  so  faithful  and  de- 
pendable. Yesterday  morning  —  Saturday  morning 

—  I  was  walking  along  with  them,  smoothing  their 
sleek  sides,  talking  the  pretty  complimentary  talk 
that  they  like  to  hear,  and  quieting   them,  when 
they  tossed  their  heads  and  snuffed  the  gusty  air. 
The  loads  seemed  more  than  they  could  pull,  and 
they  sighed  and  groaned,  and  dragged  their  feet,  and 
I  told  them  it  was  a  shame  to  overtask  them  so,  and 
I  hated  the  men  who  cracked  their  whips  at  them. 

Coming  to  a  little  creek,  I  went  back  and  climbed 
into  the  carriage.  Lucky  I  did!  I  would  have 
been  left  miles  behind  if  I  had  not.  When  the  first 
of  the  teams  went  down  into  the  creek-bed,  a  flock 
of  cranes  flew  up  almost  under  their  noses,  and  they 
snorted  and  bellowed,  and  started  up  the  bank  at  a 
crazy  gallop,  and  they  frightened  all  the  other  teams, 
and  our  heavy  wagons  were  jerked  along  through 
deep  gullies  and  up  steep  slopes.  And  after  the 
mad  race  was  brought  to  an  end,  the  "dear,  depend- 
able, patient  things"  looked  as  abused  as  if  the 
drivers  had  been  to  blame  for  the  extra  work  that 
they  had  put  upon  themselves! 


KNIGHTS   RODE   IN   TOURNAMENT    203 

One  of  the  wagons  came  gaily  sailing  along  upon 
three  wheels.  Several  others  were  half  emptied  of 
their  contents.  Stray  boxes  and  bales  of  goods  had 
to  be  looked  up  and  repacked.  And  altogether 
we  had  to  make  a  five-hour  stop  in  the  middle  of 
the  day. 

I  think  it  must  have  been  Friday  night  when  a 
band  of  wild  horses  crossed  the  trail  before  the 
camp;  and  Franz  Bach  and  Downing  and  some  of 
the  others  went  out  after  them,  and  brought  in 
five.  And  now,  while  the  caravan  was  waiting, 
they  took  advantage  of  the  time  to  "break  the 
horses  in."  The  phrase  is  exactly  the  right  one,  — 
they  do  "break"  them,  —  break  their  will,  and 
almost  kill  them,  to  conquer  them. 

It  must  be  a  frightful  thing  for  a  free  wild  creature 
to  find  itself  with  a  heavy  saddle  tightly  cinched  on 
its  body,  to  feel  a  crooked,  cramping,  breaking  bar 
of  iron  in  its  mouth,  and  to  have  to  carry  upon  its 
back  the  weight  of  a  savage  monster,  who  stabs  it 
in  the  flank  with  sharp  spurs,  cuts  its  skin  into  open, 
bleeding  welts  with  the  lash  of  a  quirt,  and  beats 
it  over  the  head  with  the  loaded  handle.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  the  four-legged  brute  tries  to  kill  the 
one  who  so  assaults  him. 

I  can  only  suppose  that  this  is  quite  the  usual 


204     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

procedure,  for  the  men  showed  no  anger  or  surprise 
while  Downing  was  practising  these  cruelties. 

I  asked  Ernst  Breunner  if  such  brutality  were 
necessary  —  if  my  pretty  Aguilita  had  been  so 
mistreated.  His  blue  eyes  showed  dangerous  sparks 
in  them  as  he  answered. 

"No!  Indeed,  no!  Such  treatment  is  barbarous, 
and  a  positive  damage  to  the  horse.  If  the  animal 
is  a  creature  of  spirit,  it  will  be  ready  to  renew  the 
contest  whenever  it  feels  a  weak  or  incompetent 
hand  upon  the  rein.  Horses  are  naturally  kindly 
and  intelligent,  ready  to  meet  man  half-way  if  only 
he  gains  their  confidence  and  trust  in  the  beginning. 
Whip  and  spurs  are  unnecessary,  to  'gentle'  a  horse." 

Downing  had  dismounted  and  was  standing  near 
us,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow  with  a  bloody 
hand.  There  was  an  ugly  sneer  upon  his  lips. 

"Well,  that  sounds  right  pretty  —  it's  as  much  as 
you  know  about  it!  Them  that  knows  'broncs' 
knows  you  can't  break  'em  that  way.  I'd  like  to 
see  you  try  out  your  fine  notions  on  that  there  red 
roan,  —  the  one  that  Bach  is  getting  ready  to  ride. 
You'd  be  in  the  dust,  and  have  your  insides  kicked 
out  of  you  in  no  time!" 

Ernst's  cheeks  could  not  but  flush  at  the  tone 
which  Downing  saw  fit  to  use,  but  he  showed  no 
other  sign  of  annoyance.  He  spoke  to  Franz  Bach. 


KNIGHTS   RODE   IN   TOURNAMENT    205 

"Take  that  saddle  off,  and  give  me  a  straight  bit, 
and  I  will  ride  your  roan  for  you."  Bach  looked  at 
him  in  surprise,  but  seeing  that  he  meant  what  he 
said,  he  ordered  the  boys  to  bring  a  bridle  with 
an  easy  bar-bit. 

Though  Mr.  Breunner  had  ridden  with  us  often, 
John  and  I  had  no  idea  that  he  was  horseman  enough 
to  ride  and  break  a  wild  horse  of  the  plains,  —  and 
now  he  was  stripping  off  coat  and  vest,  making 
ready  for  the  encounter!  There  were  no  prelimi- 
naries. With  a  bold  leap  he  was  on  the  horse's 
back  —  without  saddle  or  whip  or  spurs !  Downing 
was  prophesying  evil,  but  we  gave  no  thought  to 
him!  we  had  only  eyes  and  thoughts  for  Ernst 
Breunner  and  the  big  roan. 

The  horse  was  an  intelligent  creature,  whose  first 
effort,  when  he  found  a  strange  and  unwelcome 
burden  on  his  back,  was  to  rid  himself  of  it.  Nature 
had  taught  him  a  thousand  tricks  —  to  rear,  to 
plunge,  to  jump  in  the  air  and  dodge  sidewise  before 
his  feet  touched  the  earth,  to  buck  and  buck,  fiercely 
and  continuously. 

Ernst  kept  his  place  through  all  of  it  with  apparent 
ease;  and  in  every  pause  he  spoke  to  the  animal  in 
soothing  tones,  his  hand  patting  and  smoothing  the 
silky  neck. 

The  roan  must  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 


206     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

there  was  nothing  dangerous  or  disagreeable  about 
this  burden  that  had  fixed  itself  upon  his  back. 
Run?  Surely  he  could  run!  His  head  was  gently 
turned  and  he  found  himself  running  in  a  circle. 
Well,  why  not?  Yes,  he  could  turn  the  other  way, 
this  way  and  that,  —  could  slow  down,  and  stop, 
and  run  and  turn  again.  It  was  rather  nice  to  have 
one's  neck  rubbed  and  patted,  —  rather  nice  to  be 
talked  to,  —  something  to  be  proud  of  that  they 
two  should  understand  each  other  so  well. 

In  shorter  time  than  one  would  have  thought  it 
possible,  the  splendid  creature  was  answering  to  the 
rein,  and  then  Ernst  rode  up  and  gravely  saluted 
our  Captain,  as  if  he  were  taking  part  in  a  royal 
review. 

To  the  big  horse  this  seemed  a  good  time  to 
further  try  the  quality  of  his  rider.  With  a  plunge 
and  a  rush  he  was  off!  But  Ernst  looked  back  and 
smiled  with  the  gay  unconcern  of  one  who  is  sure 
of  his  power  to  control.  In  the  olden  times,  when 
knights  rode  in  tournament,  there  never  was  figure 
more  spirited,  more  knightly,  more  worthy  of 
admiration ! 

I  may  have  looked  at  Captain  Harrod  inquiringly, 
for  he  answered  the  question  that  was  in  my  mind. 

"Ernst  Breunner,  when  he  was  a  Gymnasien  stu- 
dent, gave  a  full  year,  as  all  Germans  are  obliged 


KNIGHTS   RODE   IN   TOURNAMENT    207 

to  do,  to  military  service.  That  he  was  a  member 
of  the  German  cavalry,  partly  accounts  for  his 
skill,  but  he  has  the  natural  gift  for  horsemanship, 
besides." 

My  eyes  were  following  the  two.  The  roan  was 
running  wildly  free,  as  if  at  the  head  of  his  band. 
He  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  and  went  through  all 
the  repertoire  of  his  tricks  again,  —  but  now  it  was 
with  a  different  spirit,  as  if  they  were  playing  a  wild 
rough  game  together.  Then  they  returned  to  us  at 
an  easy  gallop. 

Franz  Bach  was  delighted,  and  he  called  out: 

"Hi,  dere!  You  Mr.  Sherman-Prof  essor-mans ! 
Coom  oop  here,  und  dell  us  how  dot  trick  vos 
done!  Id  vos  a  pity  dot  you  nod  own  dot  horse, 
now  aindt  it?" 

And  upon  that  hint  Mr.  Breunner  spoke,  offering 
him  a  price  that  was  at  once  accepted.  The  roan 
'had  a  new  master!  John  scurried  off  and  was  back 
in  a  moment  with  our  ponies,  Barnaby  and  Aguilita, 
and  we  tried  the  paces  of  the  three  together.  They 
went  along  very  well,  but  Aguilita  is,  I  am  sure, 
much  the  swiftest! 

After  six  days  of  travel  we  were  glad  when  we 
woke  this  morning  to  know  that  this  is  Rest-day. 
It  is  not  possible  for  the  men  to  observe  the  Sabbath 


208     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

in  a  very  orthodox  fashion,  but  they  know  that  it 
is  different  from  the  other  days  of  the  week,  and 
that  it  is  better  than  to  disregard  it  utterly  as  most 
of  the  caravans  do. 

Danny  and  Ernst  and  John  and  I  went  for  a  long 
ride  this  morning.  The  men  were  glad  to  be  rid 
of  us,  for  they  purposed  to  have  a  "good  cleaning-up 
spell."  They  went  swimming,  and  borrowed  a  keg 
of  soft-soap  from  the  cook  to  do  their  weekly  wash- 
ing with;  and  they  washed  their  clothes,  and 
scrubbed  their  faces,  and  trimmed  their  beards,  and 
decked  themselves  out  in  whatever  finery  they  were 
possessed  of  —  fancy  belts  and  gay  bandannas  — 
so  they  were  hardly  to  be  recognized.  And  they 
were  playing  all  sorts  of  games  when  we  returned  — 
throwing  tomahawks,  shooting  at  targets,  pitching 
horse-shoes,  and  playing  "crack-a-lou."  A  few  were 
simply  gossiping  and  telling  stories. 

Danny,  who  likes  to  have  something  doing  all  the 
time,  proposed  that  to-night  his  Division  should 
entertain  all  the  others.  Everybody  was  invited 
and  everybody  came. 

Anna  and  John  and  I  helped  to  serve  the  sweet 
crackers  and  raisins,  the  boys  carried  the  baskets 
of  sandwiches,  and  Rob  and  Hiram  managed  the 
big  coffee-pots. 

The  men  were  very  conscious  that  this  was  a 


KNIGHTS   RODE   IN   TOURNAMENT    209 

"party,"  and  they  hushed  their  laughter,  lest  it 
should  be  too  loud,  and  ate  and  drank  in  polite 
moderation,  remembering  their  "manners."  Alto- 
gether they  were  making  it  a  rather  stiff  and  not 
over-enjoyable  occasion,  when  Twank  began  to 
play  on  his  squeaky  little  fiddle  the  tunes  that  they 
were  familiar  with,  and  then  they  began  to  feel 
more  at  ease,  and  soon  they  were  all  singing  and 
having  the  best  of  times. 

There  are  many  among  them  who  cannot  read, 
and  for  those  who  can,  there  are  no  newspapers  or 
books.  The  time  would  hang  heavy  on  their  hands 
if  each  one  did  not  take  it  upon  himself  to  help 
entertain  the  others.  They  are  capital  story-tellers, 
and  they  are  all  of  them  singers,  and  they  give 
themselves  up  to  the  spell  of  the  music  with  a  whole- 
hearted enthusiasm  that  gives  to  their  rudest  ballads 
something  of  charm  and  power. 

I  remember  a  part  of  one  of  their  songs,  called 
"The  Battle  of  Point  Pleasant." 

"Let  us  mind  the  tenth  day  of  October, 

Seventy-four,  which  caused  woe. 

The  Indian  savages  they  did  cover 

The  pleasant  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

"Colonel  Lewis  and  some  noble  Captains, 

Did  down  to  death  like  Uriah  go. 
Alas !  their  heads  are  bound  up  with  napkins, 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 


210     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"Seven  score  lay  dead  and  wounded, 

Of  champions  who  did  face  the  foe; 
By  which  the  heathen  were  confounded, 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

"Oh,  bless  the  mighty  King  of  Heaven, 

For  all  his  wondrous  works  below, 
Who  hath  to  us  the  victory  given, 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio." 

It  is  easy  enough  to  criticize  the  poetry,  but  when 
two  hundred  strong  voices  unite  in  singing  it  to  the 
tune  of  "Bonnie  Doon"  there  seems  nothing  in  it 
that  one  would  wish  to  change.  And  when  they 
swung  off  into  the  chorus  of  "The  Song  of  the  West," 
my  heart  thrilled  within  me  as  it  had  never  thrilled 
to  music  before. 

"To  the  West,  to  the  West!  to  the  land  of  the  free, 
Where  the  mighty  Missouri  rolls  down  to  the  sea!" 

It  was  like  the  roar  of  a  great  organ,  when  all  the 
stops  are  pulled  out;  and  as  if  it  had  been  an  invo- 
cation or  a  summons,  when  the  last  verse  was  sung, 
the  round-eyed  moon  slowly  rose  above  the  distant 
hazy  line  of  the  horizon.  Where  before  had  been 
soft  gloom,  dimly  lighted  by  the  flickering  fire,  was 
now  a  dazzling  crystal  radiance,  that  flooded  all  the 
plain. 

In  this  new  light  I  looked  upon  the  men  grouped 
about  us,  and  they  were  not  as  I  had  seen  them  day 


KNIGHTS    RODE    IN   TOURNAMENT    211 

by  day.  I  saw  them  as  those  who  are  yet  to  be  born 
will  see  them !  They  are  Heroes,  —  the  Conquerors 
of  the  Wilderness! 

They  are  like  the  mighty  men  of  old,  the  men  of 
whom  Ossian  sang,  —  men  strong  and  courageous, 
born  with  a  feverish  unrest  in  their  hearts,  with  a 
divine  frenzy  in  their  souls,  that  urges  them  ever  to 
tread  out  for  themselves  the  new  strange  pathway. 
All  the  obstacles  that  Nature  puts  in  their  way  are 
to  them  as  nothing.  Seas  may  not  stay  them,  nor 
forests  affright,  nor  deserts  dismay! 

Bold  and  rough  and  daring  they  are,  but  they 
know  what  gentleness  and  tenderness  mean.  With 
Hiram  and  Danny  they  sang  the  old  songs  that  we 
all  know,  sang  them  as  if  they  loved  them,  —  "Annie 
Laurie,"  "The  Light  Canoe,"  "O  Come,  Maidens, 
Come,"  and  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 

And  someone  began  the  hymn,  "Come  Thou 
Fount,"  and  all  were  singing,  —  only  I  could  not 
sing  with  them.  There  were  tears  upon  my  cheeks, 
and  my  throat  was  choked,  and  my  heart  was  filled 
with  thoughts  of  home.  It  was  the  time  for  family 
prayers,  and  father  and  mother  and  the  girls  would 
be  singing  together 


CHAPTER  XXII 
"A  MILLION  IN  A  BUNCH" 

OUR  hunters  have  been  grieving  and  sighing 
because  of  the  absence  of  the  usual  buffalo 
herds  on  the  plain.  There  will  be  no  more 
sighing  on  that  account!  They  have  seen  all  of 
that  sort  of  game  they  will  care  to  see  for  some  little 
time !  There  were  millions  —  literally  millions  —  of 
buffalo  in  the  herd  that  crossed  the  trail  yesterday. 

Bloody  battle,  —  shipwreck,  —  earthquake,  —  tor- 
nado! We  experienced  the  sensations  that  belong 
to  all  of  them. 

It  must  have  been  an  hour  after  the  caravan  had 
left  the  camp  that  we  had  the  first  warning  of  their 
approach.  John  and  Ernst  and  I  were  riding  leis- 
urely along  at  the  side  of  the  wagons  when  we  heard 
a  faint  indescribable  sound  —  like  the  roaring  of  a 
distant  Niagara,  —  and  the  ground  was  trembling 
beneath  our  feet! 

Uncle  Pliny  rushed  up,  and  unceremoniously 
thrust  John  from  his  horse,  and  mounted  and  rode 
up  to  the  crest  of  a  little  swell  not  far  from  the  track, 
to  the  north.  As  he  went  he  called  back: 


A    MILLION    IN    A    BUNCH        213 

"It's  buffalo  —  buffalo!  An  almighty  big  herd 
of  'em.  It  cain't  be  nothin'  else!" 

Mr.  Breunner  and  I  rode  after  him  at  a  gallop. 
Along  the  whole  breadth  of  the  level  plain,  from  the 
eastern  to  the  western  horizon  line,  there  appeared 
a  solid  bank  of  dark  rolling  dust!  It  came  on  at 
breakneck  speed  —  a  solid  mass  of  buffalo,  a  stam- 
peded herd! 

"Good  Lord  deliver  us!  They  will  be  onto  us 
before  ever  we  can  get  ready  to  face  'em!" 

We  wheeled  to  dash  back  to  the  wagons,  and  heard 
the  bugle's  shrill  call;  saw  the  wagons  advancing, 
saw  them  take  their  position  in  a  long  sharply 
pointed  "V,"  with  the  point  toward  the  on-coming 
herd.  Two  howitzers  were  run  out  far  in  advance, 
with  groups  of  picked  experienced  old  plainsmen  to 
keep  the  front.  We  waited  to  see  no  more,  but  with 
one  backward  glance  fled  to  cover. 

The  stock  was  hobbled  and  made  fast  between 
the  double  line  of  wagons.  Hiram  seized  me  and 
tossed  me  up  among  the  bales  of  goods  by  the  side 
of  Anna. 

"Lordy,  Lordy!  If  we  get  through  this  with  our 
lives  'twill  be  nothin'  less  than  a  miracle!  Now 
then,  you  girls,  you  lie  right  there,  and  don't  you 
budge,  whatever  happens,  —  whatever  you  may  see 
or  hear!"  —  and  he  was  gone. 


214     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  sound  of  the  trampling  hoofs  was  like  thunder 
—  only  a  hundred  times  more  dreadful  than  ever 
thunder  sounded.  We  heard  the  roar  of  the  big 
howitzers,  the  sharp  report  of  the  rifles,  round  after 
round. 

After  many  minutes  of  agonizing  suspense,  Anna's 
stiff  lips  whispered,  "I  believe  they're  passing  us!" 
And  they  were  rushing  by  us  —  outside  of  the 
wagon  lines.  Our  front  must  have  held  firm  against 
them.  Yet  as  they  rushed  by  us,  some  of  the  animals 
crowded  us  so  close,  as  to  almost  overturn  the  wagon 
where  we  lay! 

Uncle  Pliny  came  back  after  another  box  of 
ammunition,  and  stopped  to  tell  us  how  the  battle 
was  going. 

"You  can  bet  that  we  done  the  trick!  We're 
'bout  the  same  as  safe,  though,  I  take  it.  Not  but 
what  they're  still  a-comin'  —  an'  likely  to  keep  on 
a-comin'  fur  all  day.  But  the  bunch  is  putty  well 
divided,  an'  they'll  keep  on  a-swingin'  furder  an' 
furder  apart.  The  biggest  herd  I  ever  see  —  an' 
I've  been  twenty  year  travelin'  this  region.  It 
didn't  look  like  they  could  be  a  wedge  that  could 
split  'em,  they  was  packed  that  solid!  An'  comin' 
like  a  avalanche  down  a  mountain  slide!  It  were 
the  howitzers  that  done  it  —  dropped  'em  by 
hunderds,  piled  'em  in  a  heap,  a  nasty  slippery  heap 


A    MILLION    IN    A    BUNCH        215 

that  the  next  ones  stumbled  on,  an'  couldn't  climb, 
—  an'  them  that  was  behind  tromped  them  that 
was  in  front,  an'  the  pile  grew  bigger  ever'  second, 
an'  the  bangin'  an'  the  roar  frightened  'em,  so  the 
nigh  ones  sort  o'  turned  an'  crowded  to  one  side. 
The  split  were  started,  an'  then  all  we  had  to  do  was 
to  keep  on  shootin'  like  blazes.  But  they  was  a 
good  spell  when  it  looked  like  nip-an'-tuck  with  us, 
an'  as  if  it  was  us  that'd  be  the  ones  to  be  nipped  an* 
tuckered!  Them  there  boys  got  plum  crazy,  an' 
they  pot-shotted  right  an'  left,  too  keerless  to  see 
where  they  were  aimin',  an'  they  putty  nigh  fetched 
me  —  got  the  whiskers  off  one  side  of  my  face!" 

His  face  was  powder  burned  and  his  whiskers 
were  singed,  but  his  whole  air  was  one  of  jubilation 
as  he  pottered  away,  back  to  where  the  shooting 
was  fiercest. 

We  sat  up  and  looked  about  us.  The  herd  was 
divided  and  turning  further  and  further  from  the 
wagons.  As  soon  as  there  was  a  safe  clear  space 
beside  us  the  butchers  got  to  work.  Poles  were  set 
up,  ropes  were  strung,  and  soon  long,  flaky  strips 
of  the  choicest  and  tenderest  part  of  the  young 
beeves  were  hanging  out  a-drying  in  the  sun. 

It  was  long  after  our  usual  dinner  hour  when 
Ernst  and  John  came  up  to  tell  us  that  they  were 
starved  for  something  to  eat,  and  dying  also  from 


216     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

thirst.  Where  Mr.  Williams  was  no  one  seemed  to 
know,  so  Anna  and  I  scrambled  up  a  dinner  —  after 
we  had  satisfied  ourselves  that  these  people  were 
really  not  strangers  and  wild  men!  Indeed,  we 
could  not  be  sure  we  knew  them,  they  were  so 
ragged,  and  bloody,  and  dirty,  and  disheveled! 

Their  breath  was  coming  in  gasps,  their  faces 
were  flushed  red  under  the  dirt,  their  eyes  shining 
with  the  excitement  of  battle.  Ernst's  thick  blond 
locks  were  tousled  and  tumbled  over  his  brow,  his 
sleeves  were  stiff  with  blood,  where  they  were  not 
fringed  into  tatters,  and  John  was  in  as  sad  a  plight. 
They  were  young  gladiators  from  a  Roman  arena! 
It  had  been  "glorious  sport,"  but  they  were  glad 
enough  to  rest,  and  to  eat  and  drink.  How  many 
cupfuls  of  coffee  they  tossed  down  their  throats, 
how  many  helpings  of  meat  and  gravy  and  flapjacks 
they  had,  Anna  and  I  are  not  telling. 

It  was  impossible  for  us  to  move  from  the  place 
where  we  had  set  camp,  for  there  were  still  too  many 
buffalo  along  the  route  we  would  have  to  take.  It 
was  not  until  sunset  that  the  wagons  could  again 
take  the  trail.  Where  the  herd  had  passed  there 
was  no  vestige  of  greenness  left.  The  land  was 
bare  as  a  stretch  of  desert,  —  and  there  were  heaps 
on  heaps  of  dead  buffalo  lying  everywhere  around 
us.  It  was  revolting,  nauseating,  but  we  did  not 


A    MILLION    IN    A    BUNCH        217 

forget  to  be  thankful  that  the  caravan  had  suffered 
no  injury. 

"It's  likely  enough  that  we  could  a-saved  our 
lives,"  Uncle  Pliny  said,  "a-puttin'  ourselves  inside 
the  doubled  wagons  chained  like  they  was;  but  if 
the  Captain  hadn't  been  jest  so  smart  and  sharp 
about  it  we  never 'd  saved  our  critters  —  they'd 
a-gone  a-kitin'  with  them  there  buffalo,  an'  where 
would  we  a-been  then?  We'd  be  a-walkin'  back 
to  Westport,  carryin'  what  little  food  we  could  tote, 
an'  our  guns  an'  am'nition,  an'  runnin'  our  chance 
with  the  Injuns  if  we  should  meet  'em! 

"They  was  somethin'  like  that  done  happened  to 
a  pack-tram,  years  ago,  down  by  the  Caches.  Their 
stock  was  all  stampeded,  an'  they  couldn't  carry 
their  goods  nowhere  without  beasts  to  do  it  with, 
so  they  made  plans  to  hide  'em,  —  an'  they  had  to 
hide  'em  mighty  keerful,  so's  the  Injuns  wouldn't 
surmise  nothin'.  Them  being  camped  close  to  the 
river,  like  they  was,  gave  them  an  extry  chanst. 
They  dug  three  deep  holes,  big  enough  to  hold  every- 
thing, an'  they  put  their  goods  in  'em,  and  kivered 
'em  up.  Then  they  waded  out  into  the  river  and 
carried  and  dumped  ever'  mite  o'  dirt  what  come  out 
o'  them  holes  in  the  water,  so  the  piles  o'  dirt  wouldn't 
be  there  to  show  that  holes  had  been  dug.  They 
done  it  all  so  crafty  —  plantin'  cactus  an'  bay 'net- 


218     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

plants,  an'  walkin'  back'ard,  an'  coverin'  up  their 
tracks  with  sifted  sand  and  loose  stones  an*  all. 
The  sharpest  eyed  Injun  wouldn't  never  guess 
they'd  been  a  white  man's  foot  there  —  let  alone 
leavin'  their  goods  there,  —  an'  they  walked  back 
to  Independence,  an'  got  another  lot  o'  pack-mules, 
an'  come  back  to  their  caches.  An'  that's  why 
people  still  calls  it  the  '  Caches,'  you  know,  —  an' 
their  goods  was  all  right  an'  they  loaded  of  'em  up, 
an'  took  'em  on  to  Santa  Fe.  They  called  their- 
selves  right  lucky,  but  even  at  that  it  were  not  an 
experience  that  one'd  hanker  for.  An'  I'm  a-sayin' 
that  we-alls  can  count  ourselves  most  oncommon 
lucky  that  the  same  as  that  didn't  happen  to  us  in 
that  there  stampede!" 

After  spending  so  many  days  out  in  the  glaring 
sunshine,  it  seems  heavenly  sweet  to  spend  one  idle 
day  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  trees  here  at  Walnut 
Creek.  It  must  have  rained  here,  the  day  we  had 
that  wind-storm  at  Little  Turkey  Creek,  the  foliage 
looks  so  fresh  and  green,  and  there  is  a  damp  woodsy 
odor  in  the  air,  that  makes  me  think  of  home;  and 
there  are  ferns  in  the  deep  shady  wet  places  under 
the  rocks,  and  there  are  flowers  blossoming  every- 
where. 

The  great  Arkansas  river  is  in  sight.     It  is  a  wide, 


A    MILLION    IN    A    BUNCH        219 

wide  stream,  with  little  islands  covered  with  a  young 
growth  of  cottonwood  trees  dotting  its  surface. 
Across  the  river  are  hills  of  yellow  sand,  rolling  back 
like  waves  of  gold.  On  this  side  of  the  river  the 
banks  are  low  and  marshy.  Shallow  pools  and 
lakelets  gleam  blue  between  the  tall  rushes. 

Flocks  of  crane!  Plover  in  innumerable  squads! 
Ducks  in  black  clouds  overhead!  The  men  are 
thinking  of  nothing  else  than  the  hunting.  All 
day  we  have  been  hearing  the  sound  of  guns.  En- 
thusiastic sportsmen  as  they  are,  they  did  not  go 
out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  camp.  They  under- 
stand very  well  that  this  is  within  the  line  marked 
"dangerous."  These  broad  fields  —  rich  in  game 
—  are  the  favorite  "stamping  grounds"  of  the 
Indians  from  north  and  south  and  east  and  west. 
They  come  here  to  hunt,  to  hold  their  friendly  pow- 
wows, —  and  to  fight,  —  so  our  men  are  well  satisfied 
to  keep  within  sound  of  the  company's  bugles. 

Some  of  the  more  experienced  have  greater  free- 
dom. They  ride  on  ahead  of  the  train,  to  find  the 
best  place  for  camping,  and  to  look  for  signs  of 
danger.  They  have  the  best  horses  in  the  train; 
they  go  equipped  with  extra  arms  and  ammunition; 
and  they  carry  spy-glasses  or  telescopes,  so  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  take  them  by  surprise. 

Ernst  Breunner  is  one  of  the  specially  favored 


220     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

ones;  he  comes  and  goes  much  as  he  pleases.  Since 
we  were  at  Council  Grove,  he  has  been  making 
something  like  a  regular  survey  of  the  country 
through  which  we  are  passing,  —  noting  the  geologi- 
cal formation,  the  changing  elevation  above  sea- 
level,  the  height  of  the  hills,  the  depth  and  course 
of  the  streams,  etc. 

Deacon  Gentry  and  John  have  decided  it  between 
them  that  John  is  to  go  to  Mexico,  and  Mr. 
Breunner  is  giving  him  instruction  in  mensuration 
and  surveying.  To-morrow  morning  they  are  going 
on  ahead  of  the  caravan  to  "Pawnee  Rock,"  to 
explore  it,  take  measurements,  and  make  notes. 

I  am  wild  to  go  with  them,  but  no  one  has  sug- 
gested that  I  do  so.  "Pawnee  Rock"  is  an  enor- 
mous red-sandstone  boulder  or  bluff,  a  hundred  or 
more  feet  in  height,  rising  solitary  and  majestic 
(a  western  Sphinx)  above  the  level  of  the  plain. 
Sphinx-like  it  keeps  its  own  counsel.  It  does  not 
unclose  its  lips  to  speak  of  the  thousand  direful 
tragedies  and  thrilling  romances  that  have  been 
enacted  under  its  gaze. 

It  does  not  need  to  speak,  for  there  are  men  to 
speak  for  it.  They  have  garnered  up  scores  of  legends 
that  they  recite  with  telling  effect  at  night  —  when 
the  fire  burns  low,  and  the  wolf-chorus  sounds  in 
our  ears. 


A    MILLION    IN    A    BUNCH 

All  the  noted  people  who  have  crossed  the  plains, 
for  hundreds  of  years,  have  stopped  to  visit  this 
famous  landmark,  and  many  have  carved  their 
names  there  in  the  rock  —  the  Boones,  and  Davy 
Crockett,  and  Colonel  Bowie,  and  Kit  Carson;  and 
there  are  old,  old,  Spanish  names,  and  Indian  hiero- 
glyphics! And  I  want  to  go  and  see  it  all  for  myself. 
And  maybe  I  will!  If  John  goes,  I  do  truly  think 
I  ought  to  go,  to  look  after  him.  That  is  what 
father  sent  me  out  on  the  plains  to  do! 


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Big  Rob  is  amusing  himself  and  the  men  around 
him,  doing  the  Sword-dance  and  the  Highland-fling. 
He  is  agile  and  supple,  and  light  on  his  feet  as  a 
sixteen-year-old  girl.  The  men  are  hugely  inter- 
ested in  the  lively  performance,  and  in  his  efforts 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

at  singing!  His  voice  booms  out  like  one  of  our 
big  guns.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  more  than  a 
little  excited  and  light-headed,  and  rashly  disposed 
to  undertake  any  deed  of  daring,  to  hear  him  roar 
out  the  inspiring  strains  of  "Scots  wha  hae  wi' 
Wallace  bled"  and  the  warlike  "Bonnie  Dundee," 


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'Come  fill  up  my  cup,  and  fill  up  my  can! 
Come  saddle  my  horses  and  call  up  my  men! 
Unhook  the  west  port,  and  let  us  gae  free, 
For  it's  'Up  wi'  the  bonnets  o'  bonnie  Dundee'!' 


CHAPTER  XXIH 
SQUAW  TOGGERY 

IT  was  still  dark,  with  only  a  ghostly  hint  of 
dawn  in  the  sky,  when  John  tapped  with  his 
whip  on  the  curtains. 

"Do  you  hear  me,  Deya?  We  are  off  to  Pawnee 
Rock!  Such  a  pity  you  can't  go  with  us!" 

I  murmured  a  sleepy  response  to  this  belated 
indefinite  invitation,  and  he  never  knew  that  I  was 
already  up  and  dressing  —  getting  ready  to  accept 
it!  A  freakish,  foolish  notion  possessed  me.  If  I 
had  not  been  half-asleep  I  would  not  have  enter- 
tained it  for  an  instant,  but  just  then  I  fancied 
it  would  be  "smart"  to  masquerade  as  an  Indian 
and  play  at  capturing  my  dear  brother.  I  suppose 
seeing  the  squaw  suit  hanging  there  put  the  notion 
in  my  head;  but  at  any  rate,  I  dressed  myself  in  the 
deerskin  garments,  —  moccasins,  leggings,  skirt,  and 
jacket.  I  even  debated  whether  I  might  not  wear 
the  eagle-feather  head-dress,  but  compromised  with 
myself  by  tying  a  red  sash  around  my  "jetty  braided 
locks,"  and  sticking  a  single  feather  therein. 


224     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Mr.  Williams  had  been  up  for  a  long  time,  getting 
breakfast  for  the  early  risers,  and  he  poured  out  my 
coffee  and  fixed  up  a  lunch  for  me.  Half  an  hour 
after  John  and  Ernst  had  quitted  camp  I  was  on  my 
way.  A  white  mist  was  lying  low  upon  the  prairie, 
so  I  did  not  see  them  till  I  was  almost  upon  them, 
and  they  did  not  notice  me  till  I  gave  my  best 
imitation  of  a  wild  war-whoop,  and  dashed  down 
upon  them.  For  a  moment  they  were  startled,  and 
then  John  answered  me  in  kind,  and,  tossing  his  hand 
in  derision,  he  urged  Barnaby  into  a  run.  The  roan 
horse,  Zeppa,  was  swifter  than  Barnaby,  but  my 
little  Aguilita  could  outrun  them  both.  I  passed 
them,  and  drew  up  in  the  middle  of  the  road  to 
bring  them  to  a  stop.  And  then  I  had  a  shame- 
faced explanation  to  make.  I  knew  that  I  ought 
not  to  have  gone  out  of  camp  without  permission, 
and  I  felt  foolish  in  my  silly  masquerade.  But 
John  was  nice  about  it,  and  said  the  suit  made  "a 
bully  riding  costume,"  —  and  when  I  knew  he 
thought  it  was  all  right  I  was  satisfied. 

Our  ponies  pulled  at  their  bits,  and  fretted  when 
We  tried  to  rein  them  in.  They  eyed  each  other 
askance,  and  begged  that  we  would  let  them  try 
their  mettle  in  another  good  race.  It  was  glorious, 
our  flight  through  the  dew- wet  grasses. 

A  softened  silvery  sun,  a  pale  sweet  wraith  of 


SQUAW    TOGGERY  225 

itself,  showed  through  the  veil  of  mist.  The  wind 
came  up,  the  white  fog  lifted,  the  sun  glowed  like 
a  ball  of  golden  fire,  and  every  dewdrop  jewel,  on 
every  blade  of  grass,  twinkled  and  trembled  and 
flashed  and  sparkled,  till  one  could  fancy  that  the 
plain  was  bestrewn  with  diamonds  and  emeralds 
and  seed-pearls. 

Pawnee  Rock  lay  there  before  us.  We  dismounted 
and  threw  our  ponies'  bridle-reins  over  their  heads 
—  they  have  learned  not  to  stray  away  when  the 
lines  are  left  to  trail  on  the  ground  —  and  before 
setting  about  our  tasks,  we  sat  down  to  eat  the 
lunch  that  I  had  brought.  Ernst  and  John  were  glad 
enough  that  I  was  with  them,  firstly  because  I  had 
brought  something  to  eat,  and  the  ride  in  the  morn- 
ing air  had  made  them  hungry  as  bears,  and  secondly 
because  I  could  explore  the  upper  rocks  and  copy 
the  inscriptions  while  they  were  busy  with  their 
instruments  and  their  "logarithms"  and  such. 

The  big  rock  was  not  perpendicular,  even  in  the 
steepest  place.  There  were  crannies  for  footholds, 
and  knobby  projections  to  hold  by,  so  if  one  kept  a 
steady  head  it  was  possible  to  climb  almost  to  the 
very  top  of  the  cliff. 

I  had  a  little  note-book  of  my  own,  and  carried 
one  of  Ernst's,  and  in  these  I  set  down  everything 
that  I  thought  might  have  interest  or  value.  I  put 


226     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

down  the  inscriptions  just  as  they  were,  even  though 
I  did  not  know  what  they  meant  —  some  of  them 
were  worse  than  Greek  to  me.  I  wondered  if  a 
Spaniard  would  be  able  to  read  them.  One  bore 
the  date  1630. 

I  found  a  queer  figure  carved  in  the  rock  under  one 
of  the  overhanging  ledges.  I  am  sure  it  was  meant 
for  the  royal  eagle  that  is  to  bring  Montezuma  the 
king  back  to  his  waiting  people.  All  the  Indians 
of  the  Southwest,  and  especially  those  of  the  Pecos 
tribe,  are  still  expecting  the  great  Montezuma  to 
return  and  reign  over  them,  though  it  is  two  cen- 
turies since  he  vanished  so  mysteriously  from  the 
face  of  the  earth. 

The  idea  struck  me  that  this  bird,  and  the  "Piasa- 
bird"  painted  on  the  bluff  at  Alton,  may  be  repre- 
sentations of  the  same  object.  Perhaps  some  one 
of  Montezuma's  followers  may  have  crossed  the 
plains  toward  the  Kingdom  of  the  East,  and  painted 
and  carved  these  strange  figures  on  the  bold  head- 
lands as  a  sign  and  token  to  their  sovereign  that  his 
people  had  not  forgotten  him.  Or  it  may  be  they 
were  meant  to  mark  the  trail  from  the  land  of  the 
rising  sun  to  the  valley  of  the  Pecos. 

I  found  a  convenient  niche  in  the  rocks  where  I 
could  sit  and  trace  the  drawings  in  my  book. 


SQUAW    TOGGERY 

I  closed  the  book  and  rose  to  go,  and  my  hand  lay 
upon  the  place  where  Kit  Carson's  name  was  cut! 
Pawnee  Rock  is  like  the  "visitor's  book"  in  an  inn, 
where  every  guest  inscribes  his  name.  There  was  a 
particularly  smooth  bit  of  stone  near  Kit  Carson's 
name,  and  if  I  had  thought  that  he  would  ever  return 
and  look  up  his  record  there  I  would  have  written 
the  word  "Deya"  and  the  date,  just  by  way  of 
greeting. 

There  were  other  inscriptions  to  be  examined,  and 
I  reached  up  and  clung  to  a  ragged  knob  of  stone, 
as  I  tried  to  find  a  safe  place  to  set  my  foot,  — 
and  the  rock  came  loose  in  my  hands!  I  slipped 
downward  till  my  feet  struck  a  jutting  ledge  and 
my  hands  caught  in  a  prickly  bush  that  grew  there. 
Everything  turned  black  before  my  eyes.  Even 
after  I  had  given  myself  a  little  time  to  recover 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  think  of  making  the 
descent  alone.  I  saw  John  on  the  slope  around 
at  the  left,  and  I  called  to  him  to  come  and 
help  me,  —  and  he  thought  I  was  just  pretending 
that  I  was  afraid,  for  he  laughed  and  shook  his 
head,  and  pointed  to  the  instrument  that  he  was 
using.  But  there  was  the  fact,  —  he  refused  to  come 
to  me,  —  and  I  flared  up  angry  in  an  instant,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  come  down  that 
rock,  right  then,  if  I  broke  my  neck  doing  it! 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

I  suppose  it  took  just  that  flash  of  temper  to  nerve 
me  for  the  task.  I  swung  down  the  dangerous 
places  with  never  a  slip,  till  I  was  at  the  very  bottom, 
and  then  —  I  must  have  grown  careless,  or  a  stone 
turned  under  my  foot  —  the  rest  of  the  way  I  came 
with  a  rush,  and  I  would  have  gone  headlong  had 
not  Mr.  Breunner  appeared.  I  do  not  know  how  he 
caught  me  —  I  did  not  know  anything  for  a  time, 
and  it  was  only  by  degrees  that  the  consciousness 
came  to  me  that  he  was  holding  me,  and  murmur- 
ing all  sorts  of  endearing  phrases  that  were  evidently 
intended  for  me,  for  there  was  no  one  else  to  hear! 

I  just  hated  it!  I  think  he  might  have  waited 
till  he  found  out  whether  I  wanted  him  to  or  not, 
before  he  used  lovers'  language  to  me!  If  I  had 
answered  him  then,  he  would  have  known  I  was 
angry,  —  and  I  felt  so  foolish.  If  John  had  come  to 
help  me  as  I  wanted  him  to,  this  would  not  have 
happened.  Aguilita  was  within  call,  and  in  a 
minute  I  was  on  her  back,  and  riding  swift  as  she 
could  carry  me,  back  along  the  way  that  I  had 
come,  back  to  meet  the  caravan. 

And  then  I  thought  how  silly  I  had  been,  and  I 
laughed  and  turned  my  pony  again  toward  Pawnee 
Rock.  I  could  just  pretend  that  I  had  not  heard 
what  he  had  said,  and  everything  would  be  as  if  it 
had  not  happened. 


SQUAW    TOGGERY  229 

Aguilita  and  I  made  our  way  by  a  roundabout 
path  to  the  top  of  the  bluff,  and  there  I  waited  for 
John  and  Ernst  to  finish  their  work.  The  wind 
was  blowing,  pure  and  fine  and  strong,  and  it  blew 
all  my  troublesome  thoughts  away  before  it.  I 
looked  upon  the  lovely  landscape  with  real  joy. 
With  the  glass  that  I  carried  I  watched  the  caravan 
crawling  slowly  across  the  plain.  I  thought  I  could 
distinguish  the  Captain  and  Danny  and  Stoneman, 
riding  in  advance,  and  I  knew  the  blue  bit  of  gauze 
fluttering  from  one  of  the  distant  wagons  was  Anna's 
veil. 

Except  for  the  caravan  there  was  no  living  crea- 
ture in  sight  —  no  birds  in  the  sky,  —  no  antelope, 
wolves  or  coyotes.  I  turned  the  glass  to  the  north- 
west, —  there  was  something  like  a  threat  of  storm, 
a  low  dark  cloud,  a  dust  cloud,  a  gleam  of  color,  a 
flash  of  light.  I  held  the  glass  steady,  and  then  I 
knew!  Indians!  Indians  with  banners  and  spears! 
"A  war-party!"  I  screamed  frantically  to  Ernst  and 
John,  and  pointed  to  the  west.  They  climbed  up 
beside  me,  and  Ernst  took  the  glass.  After  one 
searching  look,  he  sent  me  back  to  warn  the  cara- 
van, while  they  stayed  where  they  were,  to  watch 
the  movements  of  the  approaching  Indians. 

My  swift  "Little  Eagle"  spread  her  wings  and 
flew  over  the  ground.  Those  at  the  head  of  the 


230     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

caravan  saw  my  signals  —  and  understood  the 
danger  that  threatened  us!  I  heard  the  fierce 
yelling  of  the  drivers,  the  crack  of  the  whips  like 
pistol-shots,  the  creak  and  groaning  of  the  wagons. 

Four  lines  abreast,  the  teams  were  coming  on  at 
full  gallop,  the  lines  straight,  and  all  in  perfect 
order.  At  the  bugle  signal  the  outside  lines  drew 
apart  and  increased  their  speed.  They  were  the 
first  to  reach  the  rock,  and  they  turned  and  swung 
in  toward  each  other  to  form  a  semi-circle,  with  the 
eastern  face  of  the  rock  as  a  base.  The  oxen  were 
unhitched  and  hobbled  and  tied  safely  inside.  By 
this  time  the  other  Divisions  had  arrived  and  taken 
position  close  on  the  outside  —  a  double  line  of 
wagons  with  a  wall  at  the  back,  and  a  little  flowing 
spring  of  water  in  the  center,  a  fortress  all  but 
impregnable  to  an  Indian  attack. 

Bales  of  blankets  and  buffalo  robes  were  piled 
along  the  ground,  under  the  wagons,  and  behind 
this  bulwark  the  expert  riflemen  were  stationed. 
The  howitzers  were  outside  of  all,  their  big  mouths 
an  open  threat  of  Death,  that  even  the  most  reckless 
of  warriors  would  not  dare  to  disregard. 

There  was  half  an  hour  of  inaction,  —  half  an 
hour  of  suspense.  It  seemed  an  age !  It  was  almost 
a  relief  to  hear  the  first  shrill  whoop  that  told  us 
that  the  Indians  had  at  last  discovered  us.  They 


SQUAW    TOGGERY  231 

filled  the  plain  to  the  south;  they  wheeled  in  a  mass 
and  charged  full  upon  us,  —  two  thousand  yelling 
Cheyenne  braves! 

With  head-dresses  streaming  in  the  wind,  spears 
brandished,  ready  for  the  casting,  with  horrid  cries, 
sharp  and  blood-curdling,  they  threatened  to  ride 
us  down  —  into  us  and  over  us.  I  thought  that  I 
might  die  from  fright  before  ever  they  reached  us, 
but  I  got  my  revolver  and  cartridges  ready  to  my 
hand,  and  I  determined  that  if  I  lived  long  enough 
I  would  shoot  six  bullets  anyway  into  that  crowd 
of  yelling  demoniacs. 

But  our  people  were  ready  for  them.  I  heard  the 
click  of  their  gunlocks,  —  and  then  the  Indians 
suddenly  wheeled  away  just  before  coming  into 
rifle-range.  In  solid  mass,  they  bore  down  upon 
us  again,  with  still  more  frightful  and  deafening 
cries,  and  again  they  turned  away  as  before. 

We  who  were  hidden  behind  the  wagon  curtains 
could  see  that  their  keen  glances  were  taking  in  every 
detail  of  our  defense  —  the  big-mouthed  cannon, 
the  barricades,  the  hundreds  of  rifles  ready  to  reply 
to  the  singing  of  their  arrows.  And  there  was  our 
Captain  to  be  reckoned  with.  He  was  standing  by 
the  side  of  his  horse,  alone,  out  in  front,  regarding 
their  every  movement,  undismayed  by  their  most 
alarming  demonstrations. 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  third  time  that  they  wheeled  by  us,  they 
assumed  a  gay  instead  of  a  hostile  attitude,  and 
their  cries  were  pitched  in  a  slightly  different  key. 
They  drew  up  in  close  ranks,  beyond  range  of  our 
guns,  and  waited  to  see  what  we  would  do. 

Captain  Harrod  seized  the  opportunity  as  soon 
as  it  was  offered.  Grave  and  quiet  in  manner,  but 
with  a  superb  air  of  confidence,  he  rode  out  to  meet 
them,  not  even  showing  the  raised  hand  —  the  sign 
of  amity  —  till  he  was  well  within  arrow-shot. 

The  eyes  of  all  the  Indians  were  turned  upon 
him,  but  they  made  no  sign.  When  he  was  within 
a  few  rods  of  them  he  drew  rein  and  waited,  busying 
himself  with  the  filling  of  his  pipe,  preparatory  to 
lighting  it. 

In  all  our  camp  no  one  dared  to  speak  or  breathe, 
until  we  saw  the  young  chief  riding  out  to  meet  the 
Captain.  Then  Danny  gave  a  sob  of  relief,  and  the 
words  burst  from  him,  "Bully  for  Captain  Harrod! 
He's  done  the  trick."  The  tears  gushed  from  my 
eyes  —  tears  of  pride  for  our  Captain's  splendid 
courage,  and  tears  of  thankfulness. 

A  few  of  the  lesser  dignitaries  among  the  Indians 
pressed  forward  to  join  their  chief,  and  it  was 
plainly  the  duty  of  our  Lieutenants  to  go  to  the 
support  of  our  Captain.  Aljoe  and  Haines  and 
Stoneman  and  Danny  were  in  their  saddles  in  an 


SQUAW    TOGGERY 

instant.  A  gap  was  opened  between  the  wagons 
for  them  to  pass. 

Just  as  they  started,  reckless  Danny  called  to 
me,  "Come  on,  Deya!  There  is  no  danger!  The 
Captain  has  got  the  conjur-spell  on  them!"  He 
held  up  his  hand,  making  the  "let's-play-hookey" 
sign,  and  I  threw  up  my  hand,  in  answering  signal. 
John  giggled  with  delight,  and  we  three  scrambled 
on  our  ponies  and  rode  out  of  the  gap,  after  the 
others,  wickedly  aware  of  the  fact  that  if  the  Captain 
did  disapprove  of  our  presence,  he  would  never 
dare  to  send  us  back. 

The  palaver  between  the  two  parties  was  peace- 
able enough.  The  chief  assured  us  that  his  people 
had  put  on  the  war-paint  for  their  enemies  the 
Arapahoes  —  the  treacherous  Arapahoes,  who  under 
the  guise  of  friends  had  misused  them,  stealing  their 
horses  and  carrying  off  their  women.  To  the  white 
man  their  intentions  were  altogether  brotherly! 
Their  warlike  actions  were  designed  only  to  give 
pleasure  to  the  brave  men  who  formed  our  com- 
pany. They  were  practising  the  maneuvers  by 
which  they  hoped  to  terrify  the  cowardly  Arapa- 
hoes. Was  it  not  a  brave  picture  they  made?  If 
the  white  brothers  were  pleased,  perhaps  they  would 
make  some  little  present  of  tobacco  or  "hoggy- 
meat"  or  other  trifle? 


234       PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  Captain  replied  that  he  had  already  planned 
to  bestow  many  gifts  upon  them,  and  he  gave  orders 
to  Aljoe  and  Stoneman  to  ride  back  and  bring  out 
the  bundles  of  goods  that  were  waiting. 

There  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  sit  by  and 
wait,  —  inwardly  watchful  and  anxious,  outwardly 
careless  and  indifferent. 

All  at  once  it  came  to  me  —  I  had  not  thought  of 
it  before  —  that  I  was  not  dressed  exactly  as  a  white 
maiden  should  be!  And  then  it  was  that  I  wished 
myself  anywhere  but  there  —  the  center  of  regard 
for  those  bold,  piercing  glances,  that  burned  into  me 
like  points  of  flame.  Uncle  Pliny,  who  had  come 
out  to  act  as  interpreter,  was  busy  talking  with  two 
of  the  youngest  chiefs,  and  I  thought  he  was  explain- 
ing about  me,  and  my  presence  there.  I  looked 
down  upon  my  squaw  toggery  in  disgust!  A  big 
lump  was  in  my  throat,  —  and  I  know  that  wretch 
of  a  Danny  was  enjoying  my  discomfiture. 

But  I  resolutely  kept  my  gaze  toward  the  camp, 
and  saw  a  score  of  our  men  coming  out  with  bundles 
of  goods  —  tobacco,  and  red-cloth,  and  strips  of 
"hoggy-meat."  There  was  a  splendid  necklace  of 
shining  brass  medals  for  "Broke-nose,"  the  sturdy 
young  chief,  who  was  not  stoical  enough  to  repress 
the  visible  signs  of  his  satisfaction.  The  goods  were 
seized  upon,  and  then,  abruptly,  as  if  they  really 


SQUAW    TOGGERY  235 

were  in  haste  to  overtake  their  Arapahoe  enemies, 
the  whole  band  rode  away  to  the  northeast.  I  am 
sure  they  never  guessed  how  glad  we  were  to  see 
them  go! 

I  knew  that  I  would  get  a  scolding  from  someone 
for  my  reckless  escapade;  but  it  was  not  until 
suppertime  that  Deacon  Gentry  said: 

"I  do  not  understand  the  headstrong  and  foolish 
young  people  of  to-day,  —  and  I  must  say  I  am 
disappointed  in  you,  Deya,  you,  the  daughter  of 
Squire  Randall.  You  knew  you  were  transgressing 
the  rules  of  the  camp  when  you  left  it  this  morning 
without  permission.  It  is  not  a  good  example  that 
you  are  setting  for  your  brother.  You  might  well 
look  to  Hiram's  wife  for  a  pattern  of  what  a  young 
woman  should  be.  She  is  comely,  sedate,  and 
gentle:  no  harum-scarum,  to  don  a  squaw's  gar- 
ments and  go  scampering  off,  breakneck  style,  to 
get  into  no  one  knows  what  difficulties  and  troubles. 
I  will  expect  you  to  give  me  your  word  that  from 
henceforth  you  will  conform  to  the  regulations  that 
govern  the  others." 

But  Uncle  Pliny  came  to  my  defense. 

"Oh,  shucks,  Deacon!  They's  a  difference  in 
girls,  same  as  they  is  in  boys.  "Tisn't  in  the  nater 
o'  things  that  she  should  be  like  Hiram's  wife,  ef 
she  tried  to.  It's  all  right  for  her  to  be  herself! 


236     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

An'  I'll  say  right  here  she  don't  need  no  scolding 
for  to-day's  work,  —  that  she  don't.  You  don't 
none  o'  you  seem  to  reelize  the  good  she  done  us  by 
that  thar  mischief-notion  of  her'n  this  morning. 

"It's  a  altogether  sure-enough  fac'  that  ef  she 
hadn't  run  away,  an'  ef  she  hadn't  been  on  the  top 
o'  this  here  Rock,  a-lookin'  out  with  her  spy-glass 
jest  when  she  was,  an'  ef  she  hadn't  warned  us,  we'd 
a  been  in  a  pretty  kittle  o'  fish!  Them  Injuns  'd 
a  done  us  whatever  o'  harm  they  could.  I  know 
'em  of  old!  Ef  they'd  a  got  to  this  place  afore  we 
did,  they  ain't  no  tellin'  where  we'd  a  been  now. 
An'  as  for  her  a-follerin'  out  thar  whar  them  Injuns 
was  —  she  couldn't  a  done  nothin'  better,  ef  she'd 
set  an'  planned  it  for  a  week!  Young  *  Broke-nose' 
was  jest  a-waitin',  not  knowin'  edzackly  what  he 
did  dare  to  do,  when  out  she  rides  in  that  Indian 
rig,  an'  they  was  stunned  for  a  minute  —  they  said 
so.  They  didn't  know  what  to  think,  an'  then  they 
was  plum  tickled,  it  was  so  cheeky  an'  smart!  For 
all  you  know,  or  anyone  knows,  that  thar  might've 
been  the  feather  that  turned  the  scale!  You  can't 
tell  'bout  little  seemingly-foolish  things,  what  big 
results  come  from  them  sometimes!  An'  this  I 
do  know,  that  it  didn't  do  no  hurt.  An'  you  are 
not  to  be  a-frettin'  'bout  it  no  more,  Miss  Deya  — 
'though  the  Deacon  ain't  so  fur  wrong,  neither. 


SQUAW    TOGGERY  237 

'Twas  resky,  an*  they  ain't  no  call  for  you-uns  to  be 
a-runnin'  yourselves  into  danger,  —  so  you  hearken 
to  the  Deacon,  an'  don't  you  do  no  sech  thing  agin!" 
Harshness  is  not  half  so  effective  in  the  way  of 
reproof  as  kindness  is.  Uncle  Pliny's  gentleness 
made  me  realize  the  extent  of  my  misdoing  —  of 
my  insubordination.  If  it  did  all  turn  out  for  the 
best,  it  was  not  at  all  because  of  me,  nor  was  it 
just  chance.  It  was  the  beneficent  hand  of  an  over- 
ruling Providence.  "He  maketh  the  wrath  of  man 
to  praise  him,"  and  the  foolishness  of  a  child  he 
turneth  to  account! 

Taps  are  sounding,  —  and   my   obedient   candle 
goes  out!    Heaven  guard  us,  this  night! 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  QUESTION  NOT  ANSWERED 

E?T  night,  after  one  of  the  gayest  and  liveliest 
evenings  we  have  had  in  camp,  I  cried  myself 
to  sleep.  I  was  homesick.  I  wanted  my 
sisters  around  me  as  of  old.  I  wanted  mother  to 
draw  me  close  and  smooth  my  hair.  All  night  I 
dreamed  of  home-folks.  When  I  woke  my  first 
breath  was  a  sigh;  and  all  day  the  quick-starting 
tears  have  bothered  me,  at  any  inopportune  time  — 
at  the  table,  and  when  folks  are  joking  and  laughing 
about  funny  happenings,  that  do  not  seem  funny 
to  me. 

I  have  spent  most  of  this  day  quietly  here  in  the 
carriage,  writing,  and  trying  to  draw  the  picture 
of  the  house  at  home.  I  can  see  it  as  it  is  this  very 
minute,  with  the  sun  going  down  behind  the  big 
twin  oak-trees,  and  the  red  of  the  sky  shining  bright 
through  the  delicate  foliage  of  the  young  maples; 
the  house  with  wings  at  the  sides  and  the  double 
porches  in  front,  all  pearly  white,  set  in  the  greenery 
of  trees  and  lawn;  the  row  of  bee-hives  along  the 
path  that  leads  down  to  the  spring-branch;  the 


A    QUESTION    NOT    ANSWERED    239 

orchard  and  garden,  shut  in  by  the  moss-covered 
rail-fence;  and  mother  and  the  girls  there  picking- 
strawberries  for  Sunday  supper. 

I  remember,  when  we  were  all  little  tads,  how  we 
children  used  to  climb  up  on  the  bench  in  the  wash- 
house,  to  look  at  ourselves  in  the  old  cracked  and 
wavy  mirror  that  hung  there;  how  we  looked  and 
laughed  at  the  ridiculously  distorted  faces  that  were 
reflected  there,  laughed  just  for  the  fun  of  laughing, 
as  children  do.  Our  vanity  was  never  hurt  in  the 
least  by  the  funny  reflections  that  we  saw.  We 
knew  that  the  crookedness  and  the  queerness  was 
all  the  fault  of  the  mirror,  that  it  was  not  in  our 
faces  at  all. 

To-day,  the  face  of  Nature  is  bright  and  smiling, 
but  it  does  not  seem  so  to  me.  Yet  I  know  the  fault 
is  not  in  Nature,  but  in  the  troubled,  restless  heart 
that  reflects  it. 

It  is  all  very  easy  to  say  to  myself,  "I  will  pretend 
that  so  and  so  never  happened,  and  that  will  make 
it  as  if  it  had  never  been,"  —  the  problem  is  not  to 
be  worked  out  in  that  easy  fashion!  I  cannot  pre- 
tend to  what  I  do  not  feel.  The  old  open  frank 
friendliness  is  something  that  is  not  to  be  counter- 
feited; and  since  I  cannot  bear  to  seem  cold  and 
unkind,  my  only  resource  is  to  absent  myself  from 
the  circle  where  he  is.  For  the  past  three  days  I 


240     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

have  hardly  seen  him  at  all.  I  have  been  busying 
myself  with  sewing,  and  with  writing  letters,  and 
in  the  evening  Danny  and  Farrell  monopolize  the 
time. 

Ernst  is  taking  it  very  patiently;  it  may  be  that 
he  does  not  care  so  very  much  after  all.  No,  I 
know  that  is  not  true!  He  is  honest  and  sincere, 
and  he  would  not  have  spoken  as  he  did  unless  he 
meant  it  with  all  his  heart!  He  is  only  waiting  till 
I  give  him  the  opportunity  to  tell  me — what  I  do 
not  at  all  want  to  hear. 

Life  is  beautiful  enough  as  it  is.  To  live  and  be 
gay,  is  not  that  sufficient  for  the  present?  This  is 
not  the  time  to  be  probing  one's  feelings,  to  be 
questioning  one's  heart,  "Do  I  love  —  anybody  — 
or  do  I  not?" 

Perhaps  the  perplexing  question  will  somehow 
settle  itself,  when  the  right  time  comes.  There  is 
lots  of  time  for  all  sorts  of  things  to  happen,  before 
we  reach  Santa  Fe. 

If  I  am  frivolous,  Danny  is  partly  to  be  blamed 
for  it.  It  is  impossible  for  anyone  to  be  serious 
and  sensible  and  sedate,  when  Danny  is  around. 
He  is  always  doing  or  planning  something,  in  the 
way  of  excitement.  To-day  he  has  been  digging  in 
the  pits  where  those  goods  were  cached,  so  long  ago, 
and  he  is  proudly  displaying  a  little  handful  of  silver 


>    QUESTION    NOT    ANSWERED    241 

coins  that  he  says  he  found  under  a  barberry  bush, 
—  coins  that  were  left  there,  certainly,  twenty 
years  ago!  And  now  he  is  organizing  a  party  to 
hunt  for  further  treasure.  John  and  I  are  to  help 
him,  and  are  to  have  an  interest  in  all  that  is 
discovered. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"EF  WE  KEEP  THE  NEEDLE  P9  IN  TIN9 
TRUE" 

THIS  morning  we  started  from  the  Caches 
early,  and  did  not  make  the  usual  noon 
stop,  as  we  needed  more  time  here,  to  get 
our  wagons  ready  for  the  crossing  of  the  Great 
Arkansas  river  to-morrow.  The  camp  is  in  a  great 
state  of  upsetness.  Everyone  is  getting  in  everyone 
else's  way,  and  there  is  scolding  and  shouting,  and 
the  clink-clank  of  hammers  everywhere. 

Tires  and  bolts  must  be  tightened,  new  braces 
set  in,  and  all  made  taut,  so  there  may  be  no  break- 
downs in  mid-stream.  This  is  always  a  dangerous 
crossing.  There  are  deep  whirlpool-like  holes,  and 
streaks  of  quicksand,  and  if  the  wagons  stop  for 
just  a  moment,  the  sand  piles  up  in  heaps  about 
the  wheels  so  it  is  almost  impossible  to  start  them 
again. 

I  had  a  quarrel  with  Danny,  this  morning,  about 
a  fragment  of  a  sword  which  was  all  that  he  found 
to  pay  him  for  his  digging  in  the  Caches.  He 
declared  the  weapon  an  old  Spanish  relic,  and  I 


KEEP    NEEDLE    P'INTIN'    TRUE    243 

wouldn't  say  that  it  was  any  such  a  thing.  There 
had  been  an  inscription  in  the  grooves  of  the  blade, 
but  the  letters  were  so  rusted  they  didn't  prove 
anything.  Danny  keeps  on  arguing  about  it  in  the 
most  childish  fashion,  —  after  everyone  else  is  tired 
of  the  subject;  and  he  had  invited  himself  into  our 
carriage,  but  I  left  it  to  him  and  John,  and  went  to 
walk  with  Uncle  Pliny. 

Uncle  Pliny  is  having  a  lot  of  things  to  worry 
him.  Two  of  his  mules  were  locoed,  so  they  had 
to  be  shot,  and  a  barrel  of  molasses  rolled  over  on 
his  foot,  so  he  has  to  use  a  cane;  and  he  is  over- 
anxious about  the  journey,  mainly  on  my  account 
and  Anna's. 

"I  done  crossed  these  plains  a  mort  o'  times,  but 
never  when  they  was  women-folks  along,  an'  I 
cert'nly  wish  we  could  go  round  by  Bent's  Fort, 
'stead  o'  by  the  Cimarron  route.  It's  longer,  an* 
a  heap  rougher  an'  harder  on  the  cattle,  down 
through  the  passes  of  the  Raton  mountains,  but  it's 
shorely  safer  'n  the  desert  way  —  'The  Journey  of 
Death,'  the  Mexicans  call  it,  La  Jornada  de  los 
Muertos,  'count  o'  the  many  that  has  met  death 
thar.  It  don't  deserve  that  name  no  more,  for  now 
we  know  the  way,  an'  travels  it  by  the  pints  o'  the 
compass,  same  as  ef  it  were  the  ocean.  They  ain't 
no  more  lan'marks  to  go  by  'n  ef  it  were  the  sea,  — 


244     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

no  hills  nor  trees  nor  nothin',  only  jest  a  blank  level 
plain.  But  ef  we  keeps  the  needle  p'intin'  true, 
we're  reason'ble  sure  o'  findin'  water,  an'  somethin' 
fer  the  stock  to  nibble  at,  'nough  to  keep  'em 
a-goin'. 

"But  it  ain't  none  too  pleasant  at  best!  We 
needn't  expect  nothin'  else  'n  ten  days  o'  blazin' 
heat,  with  the  sun  shinin'  fit  to  blin'  one,  an'  the 
sand  blowin'  to  rasp  the  skin  to  the  raw,  an'  water 
mighty  skurse  an'  oncertain,  an'  bitter  an'  nasty 
with  alkali  when  you  get  it.  An'  that  ain't  the 
wust  of  it,  to  my  notion !  It's  them  pesky  mirages, 
them  picters  in  the  clouds  a-makin'  you  think  they's 
water  an'  trees  an'  houses,  by  gum!  when  they 
ain't  nary  one  o'  them,  an'  maybe  you  a-most 
dyin'  for  a  decent  mouthful  o'  water!  —  but,  as  I 
said,  none  of  these  things  is  bad  like  they  used  to  be. 

"Anyhow,  seein'  as  we've  got  Harrod  to  be  our 
Captain,  we  knows  we  won't  come  to  no  mortal 
harm.  He  knows  the  country  as  few  does,  from 
A  to  Izzard.  Been  through  it  a  heap  o'  times,  an* 
them  that's  traveled  with  him  says  he  kep'  his 
men  to  the  mark  as  no  one  else  could  do,  for  all  that 
he  were  that  jolly  an'  good-natured  with  'em.  He 
ain't  like  that  no  more,  but  he's  had  enough  to 
make  him  different. 

"I  dealed  with  him  when  he  had  his  store  down 


KEEP    NEEDLE    P'INTIN'    TRUE    245 

in  Santa  Fe,  an'  we  counted  on  him  to  do  better  by 
us'  n  anyone  else  would.  He  shore  made  a  mint  o' 
money  them  days,  but  what's  money  to  a  man, 
when  his  day  of  trouble  comes  upon  him? 

"He  had  a  coachman,  that  I  know'd  right  well, 
Hennery  Good,  his  name  were,  an'  he  told  me  how 
it  come  that  Harrod's  life  went  all  to  wrack  an' 
ruin.  I  cain't  never  see  him,  a-settin'  a-broodin' 
of  an  evenin'  back  in  the  shadders,  away  from  the 
fire,  without  I  thinks  of  it  over  an'  over. 

"He  was  young  an'  gay,  —  I  know'd  that  for 
myself  —  in  them  days,  married  to  the  purtiest  of 
the  Spanish  girls,  Isabel  Olivarez. 

"Life  looked  mighty  rosy  to  them,  I  reckon! 
They  was  dances  an'  parties  an'  goin's-on,  day  an' 
night.  An'  all  the  time  they  was  a  volcano  o' 
trouble  bubblin'  under  their  feet,  an'  they  not 
heedin'  it! 

"They  wa'n't  a  week  that  someone  wa'n't  clapped 
into  the  calaboose,  an'  money  squeezed  out'n  him, 
'fore  he  was  turned  loose.  But  it  was  sech  a  reg'ler 
thing  that  they  all  jest  shrugged  their  shoulders, 
an'  paid  the  fines,  an'  chalked  it  up  to  profit  an' 
loss.  An'  so  it  come  all  onexpected  at  the  last, 
when  the  volcano  busted  out!  Somethin'  'bout 
taxes,  it  were,  an'  the  Greasers  went  plum  ravin' 
crazy!  They  butchered  the  Gobernador,  an' 


246     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

hacked  the  head  off n  his  body,  an'  kicked  it  up 
an'  down  the  streets  —  ever'one  tryin'  to  get  at  it ! 

"Harrod  an'  his  wife  was  a-ridin'  into  town,  an' 
their  kerridge  got  caught  between  two  mobs,  in 
front  of  Secretary  Abrew's  house.  The  devils  was 
after  the  Secretary — an'  they  got  him  an'  drug  him 
out'n  the  door,  an'  mistreated  him  shameful,  slashin' 
off  his  hands  before  they  done  killed  him  outright! 

"  Now  what  sort  of  a  old  fool  be  I,  to  go  an'  tell  you 
'bout  sech  things,  as  you  ain't  no  call  to  be  a-knowin' 
of  at  all?  But  no  more  had  she  —  Harrod's  wife! 
Only  she  had  to  set  there  an'  see  it  —  worse  than 
I  could  tell !  —  She  couldn't  be  expected  to  stand 
no  sech  as  that;  an' before  the  week  was  over  she 
were  laid  away  in  the  graveyard  on  the  hill,  an'  her 
baby  boy  were  buried  with  her. 

"Harrod  was  dumb  an'  crazed,  —  an'  it  was 
Manuel  Olivarez,  kin  to  his  wife,  that  had  to  do 
ever'thin'  for  him.  He  sold  out  all  of  Harrod's 
possessions  on  the  quiet,  an'  sent  the  gold,  sewed  up 
in  rawhide,  to  Harrod's  folks  back  East,  —  an'  then 
Olivarez  got  Harrod  persuaded  to  make  the  start 
to  leave  Mexico;  an'  as  he  arranged  it,  Hennery 
Good  was  to  go  with  him  all  the  way  to  Boston, 
for  company  like,  an'  to  look  after  him. 

"An'  that  thar  caravan,  they  was  with,  never  got 
no  further  'n  Whetstone  Creek.  The  thieves  fol- 


KEEP    NEEDLE    P'INTIN'    TRUE    247 

lered  them  from  Santa  Fe,  thinkin'  most  likely  that 
Harrod  had  his  gold  with  him.  The  wagons  was 
overhauled,  an'  their  stock  was  took,  an'  thar  they 
was,  out  on  the  desert  with  no  teams  an'  no  food, 
an'  nothin'  to  hope  for  in  the  way  of  relief  from 
the  Mexican  officials  if  they  should  turn  back.  So 
they  jest  kept  on  a-goin'  fast  as  they  could  make  it, 
toward  the  States,  —  God's  country! 

"Them  three  weeks  on  the  desert  was  frightful, 
but  Hennery  Good  said  the  amazin'  thing  about  it 
was  that  Harrod  stood  it  out  better  'n  any  of 
'em.  Thirst  an'  heat  an'  starvation  an'  all  was  jest 
the  same  as  medicine  to  him.  He  planned  ever'- 
thin'  they  was  to  do,  an'  the  way  they  was  to  go, 
an'  he'd  have  brought  'em  all  safe  through,  ef  they 
hadn't  some  of  'em  wandered  off  after  a  mirage 
one  noontime  when  he  was  takin'  siesta  —  an'  that 
was  the  last  of  them,  as  fur  as  anyone  knows. 

"They  was  'leven  of  'em  left  when  they  was 
picked  up  by  the  troops  an'  took  back  to  Fort 
Leaven  worth.  But  Hennery  Good  he  said  Harrod 
wa'n't  never  again  like  what  he  used  to  be.  It  was 
like  the  heart  inside  of  him  was  et  out,  an'  only  the 
rough  outside  was  left,  —  an'  mighty  rough  it  was ! 
Hennery  'd  been  a-workin'  fur  him  fur  two  year 
an'  more,  yit  he  turned  him  his  back,  's  if  he  never 
know'd  him,  an'  Hennery  couldn't  persuade  him  to 


248     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

let  him  go  with  him  no  furder.  'Back  to  Santa  Fe,' 
were  the  only  word  Hennery  could  get  out'n  him! 

"That  thar  Manuel  Olivarez,  the  American  Con- 
sul, that  was  murdered  in  Santa  Fe  last  year,  was 
the  same  Olivarez  that  helped  Harrod  in  the  time 
of  his  trouble;  an*  I  cain't  help  wonderin'  ef  the 
Capt'n  ain't  got  some  plan  in  his  head  to  make 
them  Mexicans  suffer  for  that  murder,  an5  all.  But 
it  ain't  none  of  my  business, — an'  anyhow,  we  can 
be  sure  that  he  won't  get  no  one  of  us  into  trouble, 
no  matter  what  his  private  plans  may  be.  He'll 
look  after  us,  proper  and  right,  fur  that  is  the  land 
of  a  man  he  is,  an'  he  couldn't  be  no  diff  rent.  An* 
as  I  told  the  men,  it  ain't  none  of  our  business, 
nohow!" 

I  had  thought  Captain  Harrod's  countenance 
cold  and  stern  and  harsh,  and  now  I  knew  that  it 
was  love  —  the  death-of-love  —  that  had  left  its 
mark  upon  his  face.  Love,  that  would  never  live 
again ! 

It  truly  does  not  take  long  for  things  to  happen, 
when  the  times  are  ripe  for  change!  Everything 
has  happened!  Everything  is  changed!  The  camp 
has  been  full  of  soldiers,  and  they  are  gone,  and 
a  dozen  of  our  men,  Ernst  among  the  others,  have 
gone  with  them,  out  to  Bent's  Fort. 


KEEP    NEEDLE    P'INTIN'    TRUE    249 

It  was  almost  supper-time,  and  I  was  writing, 
when  John  rode  in  at  a  gallop  to  tell  us  that  he  had 
heard,  off  in  the  northeast,  the  sound  of  a  strange 
bugle,  —  and  we  could  hear  it,  and  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs,  —  and  in  a  moment  more  a  company 
of  cavalry  swept  into  view!  They  told  us  that  as 
they  were  coming  down  from  north  of  the  trail, 
they  were  intercepted  by  a  white  man,  a  runner 
from  Bent's  Fort,  who  gave  them  news  of  the 
desperate  strait  the  Fort  is  in.  It  is  surrounded 
with  Indians,  who  are  dancing  the  Ghost-dance,  and 
threatening  to  burn  everything  and  everybody. 

A  trusted  half-breed  had  sneaked  into  the  Fort, 
and  robbed  it  of  all  its  ammunition  and  its  store 
of  brandy !  The  theft  of  the  liquor  is  all  that  saved 
the  garrison,  so  they  are  saying,  for  the  old  chiefs 
are  giving  themselves  up  to  a  drunken  carousal, 
and  it  will  not  be  till  the  brandy  is  gone  that  the 
attack  on  the  Fort  will  be  made,  —  and  the  relief- 
party  may  yet  be  able  to  reach  the  besieged  ones 
in  time. 

It  is  a  special  providence  that  the  soldiers  over- 
took us  before  we  crossed  the  Arkansas.  If  we 
had  not  kept  Sunday  at  the  Caches,  they  would 
have  missed  us  by  just  twelve  hours,  —  and  they 
need  the  supplies  that  we  were  able  to  give  them, 
need  them  grievously,  —  the  powder  and  extra  guns 


250     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

that  Captain  Harrod  has  furnished  from  his  own 
wagons. 

Farrell  and  Danny  and  Anna  and  I  were  in  the 
group  gathered  around  our  soldier  guests,  waiting 
upon  them,  listening  to  them,  answering  their 
questions,  —  when  I  turned,  to  find  Ernst  by  my 
side.  I  do  not  remember  that  he  spoke  or  explained 
anything,  but  somehow,  I  understood  that  he  was 
going  with  the  others  to  Bent's  Fort,  and  knew  that 
he  wished  to  speak  with  me.  He  took  Anna's  veil 
from  her  arm,  and  laid  it  around  my  shoulders,  and 
together  we  walked  down  toward  the  river,  and  out 
to  the  extremest  point  of  a  smooth  silvery  sand-bar 
that  curved  far  into  the  stream. 

I  tried  to  speak  lightly  and  easily  of  trivial  things, 
but  I  could  not;  and  Ernst  seemed  disinclined  to 
break  the  silence. 

When  I  looked  at  him  I  saw  he  was  gazing,  not  at 
me,  but  out  upon  the  darkening  landscape,  across 
the  mirroring  waters.  The  sun  was  going  down 
behind  a  bank  of  purple  cloud,  and  as  it  disappeared 
Ernst  turned  and  spoke  in  quiet  tones  that  thrilled 
me  all  the  more  because  of  their  restraint. 

"It  is  but  a  moment  till  they  will  call  me  to  go, 
and  I  cannot  leave  thee  without  saying  what  is  in 
my  heart.  I  think  you  must  have  known,  since 


KEEP    NEEDLE    P'INTIN'    TRUE    251 

that  day  at  Pawnee  Rock,  when  the  words,  —  the 
thousand  tender  words  that  had  been  for  so  long 
saying  themselves  over  and  over  in  my  heart, — 
rushed  from  my  lips!  And  I  did  not  know  that  I 
was  speaking,  till  I  saw  the  red  blush  come  to  your 
cheek,  —  till  you  turned  away. 

"Yet  I  was  not  sorry  —  I  rejoiced  that  you  knew 
the  truth.  I  am  asking  of  you  nothing,  Deya,  my 
heart's  love  —  except  that  you  will  remember  that 
my  life  and  soul  are  yours,  and  will  be  yours  while 
life  itself  shall  last. 

"You  are  to  give  yourself  no  anxiety  if  you  find 
in  your  heart  no  answer  for  me.  When  the  right 
time  comes  the  right  answer  will  come  to  your  lips. 
The  future  will  decide.  For  the  present  it  is  suffi- 
cient that  we  are  friends!"  •< 

And  as  if  we  were  friends,  and  only  friends,  he 
took  my  hand  and  held  it  in  gentle  and  reassur- 
ing clasp;  and  we  talked  of  other  things  —  of, 
the  beauty  of  the  evening  sky,  of  the  course  of  the 
caravan  across  the  dreaded  "Jornada,"  and  of  his 
journey  through  the  mountain  passes  beyond  Bent's 
Fort. 

"Peterson  knows  that  trail  as  well  as  anyone, 
but  he  does  not  say  just  where  we  will  meet  the 
caravan  again;  it  will  probably  be  some  time  within 
a  fortnight,  and  somewhere  near  the  canyons  of  the 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Ocate.  There  will  be  many  evenings  when  we  will 
strain  our  ears  to  hear  the  sound  of  your  sunset 
signal  guns;  and  when  we  will  be  scanning  the 
heavens  to  see  the  smoke  of  your  evening  camp- 
fires  rising  above  the  rim  of  the  canyon  walls." 

As  we  retraced  our  steps,  going  back  to  the  camp, 
the  western  sky  shone  bright  with  glowing  color  — 
rose  and  violet  and  amethyst  and  chrysoprase  — 
and  like  a  lonely  island  in  the  midst  of  that  sea  of 
light  there  floated  a  broken  bar  of  purple  cloud.  A 
last  golden  glittering  beam  from  below  the  horizon 
streamed  upward  and  flung  itself  across  the  cloud- 
mass;  and  it  was  no  more  a  lonely  island,  asleep  on 
the  bosom  of  a  mystic  sea;  it  had  become  a  glorious 
city,  with  towers  and  groves,  and  there  was  a  great 
gateway  through  which  marched  an  army  with 
scarlet  banners  flying. 

Ernst  drew  me  close  to  his  side  as  we  watched 
the  bright  vision  change  and  melt  and  dissolve  into 
the  mysterious  twilight.  And  as  we  stood  there  I 
was  conscious  of  some  change  within  myself.  Some 
new  influence,  strange,  mysterious,  intangible,  was 
stirring  my  heart's  pulses  as  he  spoke. 

"It  is  like  a  vision  of  fairyland!  And  did  you 
know,  Deya,  that  love  has  its  beginning  in  fairyland? 
That  is  what  the  German  haus-frau  tells  us!  A 
true  saying  it  is,  —  yes,  I  know,  for  I  have  proved  it  1 


KEEP    NEEDLE    P'INTIN'    TRUE    253 

"On  the  Mississippi,  that  evening  of  fairy-like 
splendor!  Do  you  remember  that  night,  Deya? 
The  white  glory  of  the  moonlight  was  upon  the 
earth  —  on  wooded  bank  and  swirling  waters, 

—  as  the  "Anna-Eve"  drifted  down  with  the  tide. 
And  the  eddies  swung  the  boat  into  a  thicket  of 
locust    bloom,    and    the   air    was    heavy    with    its 
fragrance. 

"Among  that  boat's  company  was  a  frail  boy 
and  his  sister.  And  that  night  they  were  out  on 
deck,  and  she  knelt  by  her  brother's  couch;  her 
arm  supported  him,  and  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked 
upon  him  was  love  unutterable." 

He  had  been  speaking  almost  as  if  it  were  indeed 
a  fairy  story  that  he  was  telling,  but  his  voice  began 
to  tremble  with  a  deeper  note. 

"It  was  then  and  there  that  I  gave  my  heart 
into  that  maiden's  keeping,  to  be  hers,  and  hers 
only,  forever. 

"Since  that  time  we  have  traveled  together  — 
she  and  I  —  through  an  enchanted  land.  And  so 
sweet  a  thing  our  friendship  was,  I  could  not  tell 
her  of  the  dearer  hope  I  cherished  in  my  heart,  and 
she  did  not  guess,  though  to  others  it  was  plain  — 
but  at  last  she  knew!  Her  heart  was  asleep  in  her 
breast;  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  awaken  it  to  life, 

—  perhaps  never — " 


254     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  bugle  sounded.  The  soldiers  were  mounted 
and  ready  to  go,  —  they  were  waiting  for  him.  I 
caught  his  hand  in  both  of  mine,  I  may  have  spoken 
to  him,  I  do  not  know  —  only  —  he  took  me  in  his 
arms  —  I  felt  his  heart  beating  beneath  my  cheek, 
for  just  a  little  moment.  He  whispered  my  name 

—  "Deya?"     It  was  a  question  —  the  one  question! 
His  eyes  sought  mine  in  a  long,  steadfast,  sober, 
tender  look,  and  under  that  direct  compelling  gaze  I 
might  almost  have  said  the  words  he  longed  to  hear 

—  but  I  did  not.     And  then  he  bent  his  head  and 
whispered,    "  Auf  wiedersehen!"    And    I   answered 
him  in  the  dear  words  of  farewell,  that  mean   so 
much  more  than  just  farewell, —  "Auf  wiedersehen!" 

I  watched  them  ride  away  down  the  trail,  —  till 
my  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
I  MIGHT  HAVE  PROMISED 

WE  crossed  the  Arkansas  this  morning. 
Franz  Bach  and  a  select  body  of  horse- 
men went  first,  setting  stakes  where  the 
water  was  shallowest,  to  mark  the  route  the  wagons 
were  to  follow.  John  had  permission  to  go  with 
this  "party  of  the  reconnaissance,"  and  I  mounted 
Aguilita  and  followed  as  far  as  the  bank.  Franz 
Bach  saw  me  there  and  called  out  to  me  to  come  on, 
and  he  would  look  after  me,  and  so  he  did,  keeping 
his  hand  on  Aguilita's  bridle  till  we  were  safely  on 
the  other  side.  Some  of  the  others  were  not  so 
fortunate  as  we.  Iggy  Beauchemie's  horse  got  into 
a  deep  hole,  and  the  boy  only  had  time  to  slip  his  feet 
out  of  the  stirrups,  when  the  poor  beast  ceased 
struggling  and  went  down,  and  Iggy  had  to  be 
dragged  out  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  quite  uncon- 
scious for  a  few  minutes,  —  but  nobody  made  any 
fuss  over  him,  after  he  began  to  come  to,  and  he 
seemed  to  think  it  an  affair  of  little  moment,  except 
as  he  regretted  the  loss  of  his  "pinto/' 


256     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Danger  is  a  constant  companion,  and  Death  is  no 
stranger  to  these  men  of  the  plains!  They  hold 
their  lives  as  carelessly  as  if  each  had  lives  to  spare, 
—  as  if  they  could  lose  one  —  or  two  —  or  three  — 
and  still  live  on!  My  pony  and  I  stood  on  the 
south  bank  of  the  river,  and  awaited  the  moving  of 
the  caravan.  The  scene  was  like  a  great  picture 
painted  all  in  tones  of  gray.  The  arching  sky  was 
pearl-gray;  "the  stretch  of  prairie,  green-gray;  the 
curving  sweep  of  the  river,  blue-gray;  and  the  gold- 
gray  sands  were  at  my  feet.  But  when  the  glowing 
edge  of  the  sun  cut  into  the  eastern  horizon,  this 
"Gray-Dawn"  picture  was  withdrawn,  and  another 
was  substituted  —  "Morning  on  the  Arkansas." 

Across  the  river  the  caravan  was  in  motion.  I 
watched  the  wagons  as  they  went  down,  with  a 
great  splashing,  into  the  water  —  almost  deep 
enough  to  flood  the  boxes.  They  crossed  as  fast  as 
the  doubled  teams  could  pull  them  through,  then 
up  the  bank  with  a  long,  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  all 
together ! 

They  have  taken  us  along  the  road  at  a  great 
rate,  to-day.  We  are  well  out  into  the  desert  — 
not  so  very  far  from  the  Sand  Creek  Crossing. 
This  is  the  desert,  as  Uncle  Pliny  had  described  it  — 
white-hot  sand,  withered  sage-brush,  prickly-pear, 
grasshoppers,  lizards,  toads,  centipedes,  spiders 


I    MIGHT    HAVE    PROMISED     257 

of  amazing  bigness  and  ferocity,  and  snakes,  more 
than  I  ever  care  to  see  again!  But  we  are  not 
suffering  for  water,  nor  are  we  likely  to  if  Uncle 
Pliny's  guess  proves  good. 

"The  Arkansaw's  higher  'n  I  ever  ricollect  to  see 
it  at  this  season,  an*  that's  a  good  sign  fur  thar 
bein'  right  smart  o'  water  along  the  springs  o'  the 
Cimarron." 

Even  where  the  pools  have  been  filled  up  by 
sand  we  find  water  just  below  the  surface,  so  we 
have  plenty  for  the  stock,  and  as  for  ourselves  there 
is  water  in  the  water-kegs.  But  this  we  will  use 
sparingly,  as  we  can  hardly  expect  again  to  find 
water  untainted  with  alkali,  until  the  "Jornada" 
is  passed. 

Our  experiences  so  far  have  not  been  unpleasant. 
In  the  middle  of  the  day  the  sun  was,  as  Himey 
said,  "hot  enough  to  draw  a  blister,"  but  as  soon  as 
the  sun  was  out  of  sight  a  cool  sweet  wind  blew 
across  the  sands,  and  in  that  instant  everyone 
forgot  all  about  the  heat.  The  men  are  romping 
and  wrestling,  and  dancing  to  the  inspiring  strains 
of  Twank's  squeaky  little  fiddle,  but  Joe-Lu  —  de- 
serted by  his  foster-brothers,  Auguste  and  Franchy 
—  has  no  part  in  the  merriment  or  music.  He  had 
never  before  been  separated  from  his  two  friends 
for  a  single  day,  and  made  ready  to  go  with  them 


258     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

to  Bent's  Fort  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  Franchy 
bade  him  stay  with  the  caravan. 

"We  be  back  in  two  week.  De  caravan  need 
you!  More  special  you  an'  dat  Banff  dog.  You 
keep  watch  by  de  carriage  of  dem  ladies,  dat  not'ing 
happen  while  we  be  gone!" 

And  last  night  Joe-Lu  took  his  station  —  rolled  up 
in  his  blanket  —  under  the  wagon  next  to  ours,  and 
the  gray  wolf-dog  walked  up  and  down  beside  him. 

There  is  no  unusual  sound  or  movement  in  the 
camp  that  Banff. does  not  hear  and  notice.  If  we 
but  lift  our  curtains,  there  is  Banff,  alert  and  eager 
to  do  what  may  be  required  of  him.  Joe-Lu  — 
because  it  was  Franchy  who  put  us  in  his  charge  — 
would  die  before  he  would  let  harm  come  to  us,  and 
Banff  would  be  glad  to  sink  those  long  white  fangs 
of  his  in  the  throat  of  any  intruder,  if  Joe-Lu  should 
give  the  word. 

There  is  not  a  thing  to  be  afraid  of,  but  it  does 
give  one  a  comfortable  feeling,  nevertheless,  to  know 
that  they  are  near. 

Banff's  guardianship  is  going  to  be  a  little  in- 
convenient sometimes.  It  was  only  just  now  that 
Franz  Bach  came  with  a  message  from  the  Deacon, 
and  Joe-Lu  had  to  spring  up  in  a  hurry  and  catch 
the  dog  by  the  collar,  and  hold  him,  while  Bach 
delivered  his  message.  The  Deacon  had  sent  word 


I    MIGHT    HAVE    PROMISED     259 

that  we  were  to  blow  out  our  candle  and  go  to  sleep, 
as  the  caravan  would  be  on  the  move  by  midnight, 
and  travel  all  night,  to  try  to  make  Sand  Creek  by 
breakfast-time. 

One's  heart  is  a  queer  and  incomprehensible 
thing.  It  says  one  thing  to-day  and  something  else 
to-morrow.  Maybe  there  is  no  real  depth  of  feeling 
in  me.  The  things  of  the  passing  moment  mean  so 
much  to  me.  "Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind!"  That 
is  the  way  it  seems  to  be  with  me.  Really  and  truly 
I  am  relieved  that  Ernst  is  not  with  us  —  and  there 
was  one  moment  when  I  might  almost  have  said  the 
words  he  longed  to  have  me  say,  when  I  might  have 
promised  him  —  everything !  And  if  I  had,  I  know  I 
would  be  repenting  it,  this  minute,  and  forgetting  it, 
as  fast  as  ever  I  could.  I  don't  love  him!  Liking  is 
not  loving!  I  don't  want  to  think  about  love,  as  yet. 
I  want  to  be  just  careless  and  care-free,  and  I  don't 
want  to  step  off  into  the  deep  waters,  even  though 
I  know  there  will  be  someone's  strong  arm  to  sustain 
me.  I'd  rather  trifle  and  play  along  the  shore. 

There!  I  am  not  going  to  trouble  myself  any 
more  about  the  future!  "Never  trouble  trouble, 
till  trouble  troubles  you,"  —  that  is  what  Hiram 
often  says,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  sensible  advice. 

Anna  does  not  guess  what  is  going  on  in  my 


260     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 


thoughts.  We  are  together,  day  after  day,  and 
at  night  she  takes  me  on  her  arm  as  if  I  were  her 
younger  sister,  but  I  really  know  very  little  about 
her  thoughts  —  with  these  calm  quiet  people  one 
can  never  tell  —  and  she  doesn't  puzzle  herself  with 
my  problems,  I  am  sure. 

She  is  singing  the  old  "Barbara  Allen"  ditty  — 
"Cruel  Barbara  Allen."  It  is  just  a  little  appro- 
priate to  my  own  state  of  mind,  but  I  do  not  give 
her  credit  for  knowing  that. 

She  has  folded  up  her  pretty  patchwork  quilt, 
now  almost  done,  but  she  has  still  her  ablutions  to 
perform,  and  her  hair  to  brush  and  braid,  so  I  do  not 
have  to  lay  aside  my  book  for  a  long  time  yet. 


^       "li          t            .rf- 

•  a  t*  r  i0  A 

^  p  r      ii* 

•  •  1*  r  1*  o   J 

IO\   ~   'J 

i      i     r        1  1     r 

«  r 

* 

v4/         *                  * 

r        r 

I^J    '      tn 

!       1  ,  1^1             1 

MM 

i                         r»_ 

1      ^ 

]                  N           J 

N     i 

I      \(\\        "                  '            ^^                 & 

8*. 

i    J     *    ^ 

J         1 

»               J      9     * 

.               J     9 

*  •  J              - 

1  —  p*n  1  ,  F*i  r-                      1--, 

1    xs       Jl 

i  j  i   h  — 

N   1     J    J                 M         K-l-a- 

U'A  hard-hearted  creature  that  I  was 
To  slight  one  who  loved  me  so  dearly. 
I  wish  I  had  been  more  kinder  to  him, 
The  time  of  his  life  when  he  was  near  me/ 


I    MIGHT    HAVE    PROMISED     261 

So  this  maid  she  then  did  die, 
And  desired  to  be  buried  by  him: 
And  repented  herself  before  she  died, 
That  ever  she  did  deny  him. 

"  *  O  mother,  mother,  make  my  bed, 
And  make  it  soft  and  narrow. 
Since  my  love  died  for  me  today, 
I'll  die  for  him  tomorrow. 
Farewell,  farewell,  ye  virgins  all, 
And  shun  the  fault  I  fell  in. 
Henceforth  take  warning  by  the  fate 
Of  cruel  Barbara  Allen!'" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
WAIFS  OF  THE  DESERT 

^  a  THE  desert- journey  is  over,  at  last!  The 
"Jornada"  is  crossed!  It  has  all  been  like 

A  a  long  nightmare.  We  have  traveled  mostly 
at  night,  have  taken  our  meals  anyhow  and  any 
time,  and  have  slept  when  we  could.  Day  and  night 
have  run  indistinguishably  into  each  other,  so  that 
Sunday  came  and  went  without  our  knowing  it; 
and  now,  I  think,  no  one  is  sure  about  the  day  and 
date,  only  the  Captain  says  this  is  the  fourth  day  of 
the  month  —  the  Fourth  of  July  —  so  we  all  call 
it  that. 

Since  midnight  the  men  have  been  celebrating, 
as  good  Americans  should,  —  firing  guns,  having  a 
sham  battle,  Colonists  against  the  Britishers.  It  is 
a  wonder  that  no  one  was  injured  in  the  dangerous 
game. 

If  this  is  Wednesday,  the  fourth,  it  is  a  week  and 
two  days  since  we  forded  the  Arkansas.  That  first 
day  and  night  on  the  desert  was  not  so  bad,  but 
when  the  sun  came  up  on  Wednesday  morning,  a 
furious  hot  wind  came  up  with  it,  and  we  were 


WAIFS    OF    THE    DESERT         263 

engulfed  and  smothered  in  a  flying  cloud  of  sand. 
It  struck  us  in  the  face,  like  a  stinging  whip-lash. 
Our  eyes  were  smarting  and  blinded  by  it.  Our 
throats  were  dry  and  choked.  Our  teeth  gritted 
on  it.  We  breathed  sand,  ate  sand,  and  drank 
sand! 

The  oxen  could  not  face  the  terrible  blasts.  They 
turned  this  way  and  that.  We  lost  all  track  of  the 
course  we  were  taking,  and  did  not  know  but  we 
were  miles  from  where  we  should  be!  At  noon  the 
Captain  called  a  halt,  and  sent  out  two  scouting 
parties,  to  try  and  find  Sand  Creek  Crossing,  —  or 
any  place  where  there  was  water  for  the  stock. 
They  had  not  had  a  drop  since  midnight  of  the 
night  before! 

It  was  a  desperate  proceeding  to  send  the  men 
away  from  the  caravan.  The  air  was  so  thick  with 
driving  sand  one  could  see  nothing  at  two  rods' 
distance,  and  we  had  to  keep  firing  the  big  gun,  so 
that  those  who  left  us  might  find  their  way  back 
again.  And  we  were  right  near  Sand  Creek  all  the 
time,  and  did  not  know  it. 

Uncle  Pliny's  party  had  been  gone  only  a  little 
time,  when  we  heard  their  guns  answering  ours. 
It  was  the  signal  meaning,  "All  is  well!"  —  three 
shots  fired  in  quick  succession  and  then  three  more. 

The  oxen  were  yoked  in  and  the  wagons  moved 


264     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

out  to  meet  the  horsemen,  and  soon  we  reached  the 
watering  place.  The  teams  went  steadily  enough, 
till  they  "smelled  water,"  and  then  they  dashed 
ahead,  like  wild  and  crazy  things !  Bellowing,  they 
plunged  into  shallow  pools,  dragging  the  loaded 
wagons  after  them.  Some  of  the  animals  were 
knocked  down  and  trampled  on,  some  of  the  wagons 
were  overturned,  but  no  one  stopped  to  set  things 
right.  The  oxen  drank  till  they  were  full  to  burst- 
ing, and  the  men  drank  with  them,  out  of  the  same 
puddles,  —  drank  and  drank  as  if  that  warm  and 
dirty  water  were  the  most  delicious  draught  in  the 
world ! 

We  were  eating  our  sand-peppered  flap-jacks,  at 
the  meal  that  we  called  dinner,  when  Danny  came 
over  to  tell  us  about  six  starving  Mexicans  that 
Uncle  Pliny  had  just  discovered,  crouched  under  the 
bushes  a  little  ways  down  stream.  They  were  in 
a  most  pitiful  plight,  only  two  out  of  the  six 
being  able  to  walk  without  assistance.  One  of 
them  —  Jose-Marie,  they  called  him  —  was  raving 
in  delirium,  and  had  to  be  brought  in  on  a  stretcher. 

Danny  and  Hiram  and  the  Deacon  went  over  to 
see  them,  and  John  and  I,  unobtrusively,  followed. 
We  found  them  half  lying,  half  sitting,  propped  up 
with  bales  of  goods,  and  Uncle  Pliny  was  feeding 
them  with  a  spoon,  turn  and  turn  about. 


WAIFS    OF    THE    DESERT         265 

The  curiosity  with  which  we  regarded  them 
was  tinctured  with  something  like  hostility  —  they 
were  so  villainous-looking!  Their  blood-shot  eyes 
gleamed  wickedly  from  under  their  black  brows. 
Their  hair  was  matted  with  dirt.  They  were  almost 
naked,  and  their  bones  seemed  breaking  through 
their  parched  and  dried-up  skin. 

Arandez,  the  leader  among  them,  told  how  they 
came  to  be  thus  alone  on  the  desert.  They  belonged 
with  the  caravan  that  left  Westport  two  weeks 
before  we  did.  They  had  gone  as  far  as  McNee's 
Creek,  when  these  six  men  left  their  camp  to  look 
after  some  stock  that  had  strayed.  They  came 
back  four  hours  later  to  find  there  was  no  camp! 
There  was  nothing  of  the  caravan  but  a  pile  of 
charred  and  blackened  scraps,  where  the  wagons 
had  been  burned,  nothing  of  the  men  but  a  pile 
of  bodies  pierced  by  innumerable  arrows,  —  bodies 
already  torn  by  the  wolves.  The  arrows  told  the 
story  —  a  band  of  Apaches  had  surprised  the  camp. 

These  men  —  not  stopping  to  mourn  their  lost 
companions  —  turned  back  again  to  the  desert. 
There  was  no  lack  of  water,  and  for  food  there  were 
snakes  and  grasshoppers,  and  the  apples  of  the 
prickly-pear.  Day  by  day  they  grew  weaker  and 
weaker  but  did  not  think  of  giving  up  until  that 
blinding  sand-storm  struck  them! 


266     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"Then  we  say,  'It  is  no  use!  Let  us  die!'  And 
even  so  we  would  have  perished  there,  had  not  the 
Americanos  come  at  the  moment,  to  rescue  us!" 

They  seem  most  grateful,  and  anxious  to  make 
themselves  useful  in  every  way  possible.  Our 
people  are  saying  they  do  not  know  how  we 
would  have  crossed  the  Jornada  without  their  help. 
Having  been  over  the  route  so  lately,  they  knew 
where  to  find  the  water-pools,  so  that  we  were  well 
supplied  at  every  camping  place. 

"It's  plum  clever  the  way  we  sashayed  across  this 
here  desert  this  time,"  says  Uncle  Pliny;  "quickest 
time  on  record's  far's  I  know." 

He  takes  the  credit  to  himself,  for  was  it  not  his 
Mexicans  who  showed  us  the  way?  Uncle  Pliny 
has  never  liked  Mexicans,  but  these  people  he  found, 
lost  and  suffering,  and  saved  them  from  starvation, 
and  that  makes  a  difference!  He  looks  after  their 
comfort  in  every  way,  and  has  taken  the  decentest 
looking  one  among  them,  Ignacio  el  Viejo,  to  help 
him,  as  clerk,  in  his  grocery  store. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
SUCH  ARE  THE  RULERS  OVER  US 

NO  more  dreary,  barren,  everlastingly  level 
lands,  —  no  more  wandering,  uncertain, 
shallow,  sluggish  streams  and  stagnant 
pools! 

The  noisy  little  rivers  foam  and  fret,  deep  down 
in  their  boulder-strewn,  rugged  channels.  We  drink 
from  fountains  that  gush  out,  sparkling  and  cold  as 
ice,  from  crevices  in  the  solid  rock. 

High  hills  obstruct  our  path,  from  whose  summits 
we  see  the  abrupt  ledges  of  the  mesa-cliffs,  — 
naked  spurs  of  rock,  and  isolated  rounded  knolls 
and  mounds.  And  little  valleys  lie  spread  out  with 
a  carpet  of  green,  and  here  and  there  are  gooseberry 
bushes  and  wild  currants,  and  little  scraggly  mul- 
berry trees,  and  cedars,  —  really  and  truly  trees ! 

Within  a  few  days  we  will  be  entering  the  gateway 
of  the  foot-hills,  where  we  are  expecting  to  meet 
those  of  our  friends  who  went  to  the  relief  of  Bent's 
Fort.  Uncle  Pliny  persists  in  talking  of  them,  — 
of  Ernst  Breunner,  more  than  anyone  else!  There 
is  a  tone  of  reproach  in  his  voice  as  if  he  were  trying 


268     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

to  make  me  think  well  of  Ernst.  I  do  think  well  of 
him  —  of  course  I  do !  I  would  be  the  most  ungrate- 
ful girl  in  the  world  if  I  didn't!  But  just  the  same, 
the  world  is  not  all  dark  to  me  because  of  his  absence. 
It  is  an  ever-new  delight  to  gallop  over  the  hard 
white  road  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  wind 
blows  fresh  and  strong.  And  at  noon  I  lie  lazily 
back  on  the  cushions  and  watch  the  changing  pic- 
tures in  the  sky,  —  the  miracle  of  the  mirages, 
as  they  come  and  go.  And  when  the  day  is  done, 
what  joy  to  see  the  stars  come  out,  and  feel  the  cool 
breath  of  evening  on  my  cheek!  I  am  not  thinking 
at  all  of  the  future. 

Yesterday,  late  in  the  afternoon,  John  and  I  were 
riding  with  Danny  and  Franz  Bach,  when  we  saw 
on  the  plain,  far  in  the  distance,  scattered  groups 
of  moving  dark  dots.  Danny  is  the  possessor  of 
a  spy-glass  of  quite  enormous  proportions,  and  by 
its  aid  we  were  able  to  prove  to  ourselves  that  this 
was  a  herd,  and  a  large  one,  of  tame  cattle  —  the 
first  we  have  seen  since  we  left  Westport. 

We  rode  post-haste  back  to  the  caravan,  and 
reported.  The  wagons  were  halted,  and  the  big 
guns  were  staked  down,  loaded  to  the  muzzle,  and 
fired,  both  together.  Instantly  we  saw  through  the 
telescope  a  mounted  horseman  appear  on  the  crest 


THE    RULERS    OVER    US  269 

of  the  Rabbit-ear  Mound,  some  six  miles  distant. 
Helter-skelter  down  the  steep  declivity  the  horse- 
man plunged,  and  in  the  next  minute  our  men  were 
mounted  and  riding  at  their  swiftest  pace  to  meet 
him.  By  the  time  the  dusty  cavalcade  returned 
with  the  stranger  in  their  midst,  the  camp  had  been 
formed  and  the  stock  picketed  out,  and  everything 
made  ready  for  Sunday. 

We  had  supposed  that  the  stranger  would  be 
nothing  more  than  a  cibolero,  an  ordinary  common 
stupid  herder;  but  we  found  him  to  be,  instead,  a 
Spanish  gentleman,  —  the  owner  of  many  herds, 
and  the  proprietor  of  an  extensive  estate  thirty 
miles  to  the  south  of  us.  That  he  accounted  himself 
a  person  of  some  importance  was  evident  at  a  glance. 
His  fancy  cloth  jacket  was  richly  braided,  and  his 
striped  trousers  were  split  at  the  side,  from  hip  to 
ankle,  to  show  the  snowy  white  drawers,  calzon- 
cillos,  that  were  worn  underneath.  His  zerape  was 
of  the  finest  quality,  his  sombrero  a  very  marvel, 
bedecked  with  silver  braid  and  bullion  balls  and 
tassels. 

With  a  grandiose  wave  of  the  hand  he  informed 
us  that  he  was  sole  owner  of  all  the  region  round 
about  us  —  a  paltry  hundred  thousand  acres ! 

"Cattle  also,  so  they  are  not  to  be  counted! 
Yet  am  I  poor!  The  thieves  whom  I  hire  rob  me 


270     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

without  reason  —  not  by  littles,  but  to  the  half  of 
all  they  touch.  It  is  so  always !  But  two  days  ago 
I  come  up  from  San  Miguel,  to  take  them  unawares. 
They  also  have  the  surprise  for  me!  I  find  the  fattest 
and  finest  of  my  herd  on  the  way  to  the  market  at 
Taos.  The  stout  fellows  whom  I  bring  with  me, 
they  make  the  thieving  wretches  to  pay  in  the  blood 
from  their  backs,  for  their  treachery  to  their  master. 
Always  so  it  has  been!  Always  so  it  will  be!  No 
importa!  It  is  not  important  enough  to  anger  one's 
self,  —  especially  as  it  is  not  to  be  helped.  Per  done 
Vd.  —  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me,  that  I  speak  of  my 
own  affairs,  when  I  should  wish  to  ask  what  can 
I  do  for  you.  I  am  yours  to  command  in  all 
things." 

Our  men  were  only  waiting  the  opportunity  to 
inquire  about  matters  in  Santa  Fe,  —  about  the 
condition  of  the  markets,  were  our  prospects  for 
profits  good?  etc. 

In  answer  to  the  Deacon's  questions,  our  friend, 
the  Senor  Farrias,  replied: 

"Yes,  the  government,  it  is  still  as  it  was  last 
year.  Armijo  still  holds  the  reins  of  power.  For 
cierto!  Yes,  certainly,  it  is  the  same  Armijo,  —  as 
like  to  these  robber  hirelings  of  mine  as  if  they  had 
been  born  of  the  same  mother,  at  the  same  birth! 
Si,  si,  the  people  call  him  thief,  —  sheep-stealer,  — 


THE    RULERS    OVER    US  271 

that  is  the  reputation  he  has.  The  people  of  Mexico 
groan,  but  still  they  endure! 

"It  is  of  God's  mercy  that  he  is  now  ill,  —  very 
ill,  —  so  for  weeks  he  has  not  left  the  Palacio.  Per- 
haps poisoned  by  the  Gobernadora!  That  is  what 
they  are  saying.  Es  muy  posible!  It  is  very  pos- 
sible! What  she  is  everybody  knows.  She  would 
do  the  deed  and  boast  of  it.  Such  are  the  rulers, 
whom  we  have  over  us !  Yes,  Senor,  the  collecting 
of  the  duties  is  as  usual  —  five  hundred  dollars  for 
every  wagon  that  enters  Santa  Fe,  whether  it  be 
full  or  empty,  whether  it  carries  calico  or  silk,  —  no 
matter  what.  It  is  injustice,  thievery,  but  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done,  except  by  cunning  to  outwit  the 
thieves.  Si,  si,  it  can  be  done,  so  the  toll  they  take 
will  not  be  so  excessive.  See  you  then!  I  give  you 
this  advice! 

"They  will  send  out  *  customs-inspectors'  from 
Santa  Fe  to  meet  you;  you  cannot  tell  where,  but 
somewhere  near  Moro  or  Las  Bagas.  Before  they 
come,  you  repack  all  your  goods  in  the  biggest, 
stoutest  wagons,  two  loads  in  one  wagon,  burning 
those  you  cast  away.  So  you  must  do  if  you  would 
save  yourself  from  extortion.  Even  so  you  will  be 
paying  twice  too  much,  and  that  thief  Armijo  will 
pocket  the  half  of  it,  as  a  matter  of  course! 
Prices?  They  should  be  good.  Santa  Fe  is  full 


272     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

even  now  of  merchants,  from  Chihuahua,  and 
Socorro,  and  Zacatecas,  even  from  the  City  of 
Mexico,  all  waiting  the  arrival  of  La  Caravana. 

"For,  look  you!  there  is  a  rumor  that  Santa  Fe 
and  Mexico  is  to  be  closed  to  the  Americanos. 
Santo  Dios!  Yes,  it  is  what  they  say!  It  will  be 
the  ruin  of  our  merchants!  Goods  we  must  have, 
and  of  whom  can  we  buy  if  not  of  the  Americanos? 
So  our  merchants  will  be  all  the  more  eager  to  buy 
while  they  can*.  They  will  dispute  with  each  other 
who  shall  bid  highest  for  what  you  have  to  sell. 
Profits  there  will  be  of  a  surety.  This  is  the  common 
gossip  at  San  Miguel." 

As  the  crowd  of  our  men  pressed  around  the 
stranger,  Arandez  the  Mexican  was  pushed  to  the 
front.  For  a  moment  Senor  Farrias  and  Arandez 
stared  at  each  other,  and  then  the  big  Mexican 
slipped  back  again  into  the  crowd.  Farrias  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  like  a  Frenchman. 

"These  mongrels  are  altogether  evil,  but  that 
big  fellow  must  surely  be  of  the  worst!  I  have  seen 
him  —  I  cannot  say  where  —  but  it  would  be  no 
good  that  one  could  know  of  him!" 

Our  new  friend,  Senor  Farrias,  stayed  with  us 
over  night,  leaving  camp  at  daybreak  to  ride  across 
to  his  puesto,  —  his  ranch-house,  —  only  twenty 
miles  away !  He  must  have  met  some  of  his  ciboleros, 


THE    RULERS    OVER    US  273 

for  they  made  their  appearance  in  time  for  an  invi- 
tation to  dinner!  They  were  rough-looking  fellows, 
but  our  Mexicans  fraternized  with  them  at  once. 

Uncle  Pliny  did  not  like  it  that  his  Ignacio  should 
have  helped  himself,  and  his  new-found  friends,  from 
the  liquor  casks.  Uncle  Pliny  sells  liquor  with  as 
little  compunction  as  if  it  were  molasses,  but  he  will 
not  sell  it  "on  a  Sunday."  This  did  not  trouble 
Ignacio.  He  just  went  and  helped  himself  — 
filled  his  jug  and  took  it  over  to  the  ravine  where 
he  and  his  friends  had  taken  up  their  quarters. 

"They  was  havin'  a  reg'ler  jamboree,  —  a-fightin' 
an'  carryin'  on  at  a  great  rate,"  Uncle  Pliny  said. 
"I  ain't  used  to  puttin'  up  with  no  sech  didoes,  an' 
so  I  told  'em!  Them  stranger  fellows  was  that 
obstreperous,  I  had  to  put  a  bee  in  their  bunnit, 
an'  I  jest  sent  'em  to  the  right-about,  long  'bout 
their  business!  They  went  at  the  first  say-so!  I 
dono  how  come  Ignacio  to  do  sech  a  thing,  to  reg- 
'lerly  steal  that  liquor  like  he  done  —  he  has  been 
right  steady  and  dependable,  but  I  reckon  the 
scoldin'  I  gin  him  will  be  a  lesson  to  him!" 

Perhaps  it  will! 

The  night- wind  is  shaking  the  curtains.  The 
candles  are  almost  burned  out.  In  the  sky  there 
is  not  the  faintest  glimpse  of  moon  or  star. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  FACE  I  LONG   TO  SEE 

F*    I   "1HE  past  two  days  have  been  hateful  and 
horrid.     All    other    days    have   been    hot, 

JL  but  these  have  been  cold,  and  there  has 
been  a  bitter,  sulphurous  taint  in  the  air.  All 
other  days  have  been  bright  with  sunshine,  but 
these  have  been  dark  and  gloomy  and  depressing. 

Last  evening  the  trail  led  through  a  narrow,  tor- 
tuous defile — a  ragged  wound  cut  deep  into  the  breast 
of  the  hill.  On  either  side  of  us  the  rocks  were  red 
and  blotched  and  slimy,  —  crowding  us  so  closely 
it  seemed  that  they  must  surely  draw  together  to 
crush  us !  Our  camp  for  the  night  was  made  out  on 
the  open  plain,  but  through  the  hours  of  darkness, 
even  in  my  dreams,  I  could  hear  the  roaring  of  the  * 
blast  as  it  swept  down  through  the  canyon. 

There  were  two  consciousnesses  alive  within  me. 
I  knew  all  that  was  really  and  truly  going  on  in  the 
camp,  —  yet,  at  the  same  time,  I  was  deep  sunk  in 
dreaming.  Strange  and  fantastic  images  presented 
themselves  before  me,  and  flaming  outbursts  of  color, 
dissolving,  changing,  melting  into  each  other,  till 


A    FACE    I    LONG    TO    SEE         275 

I  was  dazzled,  distraught!  Then  there  was  no  color, 
no  light  in  all  the  world,  only  utter  darkness.  And 
there  was  no  solid  earth,  naught  but  heaving  chaos, 
a  tossing,  muttering,  viscid,  slimy  flood.  I  was 
trying  to  cross  its  treacherous  surface,  and  there 
was  no  firm,  safe  spot  where  I  could,  for  a  moment, 
rest  me.  And  hovering  over  me,  following  me,  was 
a  black,  cloud-like,  formless  thing  —  a  malignant, 
poisonous,  altogether-evil  presence.  I  felt  it  settling 
around  me,  I  felt  its  clammy  touch  on  my  brow, 
I  writhed  myself  free,  and  in  some  strange  manner 
—  partly  gliding  and  partly  flying  —  I  fled  fast 
and  far!  Then  the  earth  slid  away  from  beneath 
me,  and  I  felt  myself  falling  —  whirling  down  and 
down,  through  unfathomable  abysses! 

The  horror  of  it  awoke  me.  I  was  cold  with 
terror!  My  limbs  were  strained  and  rigid;  my 
hands  clenched  so  tightly,  it  was  pain  to  unclose 
them!  It  was  pain  to  move! 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  write  this,  only  somehow 
writing  helps  to  make  me  realize  that  it  was,  after 
all,  only  a  dream,  and  dreams  are  nothing. 

Anna  is  an  inspiration  to  cheerfulness.  To-night, 
when  it  came  time  to  make  ourselves  ready  for 
supper,  she  laid  out  my  pink  sprigged  lawn  for  me 
to  wear,  and  for  herself,  her  next-to-best  white 


276     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

dimity.  Pretty  clothes  have  their  effect  upon  the 
wearer.  A  gay  and  unruffled  state  of  mind  seems 
naturally  to  go  with  a  gay  and  beruffled  gown.  So, 
as  I  contemplated  my  crispy,  starched  ruffles,  I  smiled 
and  forgot  that  I  had  been  foolish  enough  to  let 
foolish  dreams  trouble  me. 

We  have  had  such  a  quiet  and  pleasant  evening. 
I  worked  at  my  tatting  —  I  have  yards  of  it  done, 
and  haven't  the  faintest  idea  what  I  will  use  it  for, 
—  and  Anna  was  busy  with  her  embroidery.  She 
is  never,  never  idle!  I  thought  she  would  be  content 
to  sit  with  folded  hands,  for  a  time  at  least,  when 
her  quilt  was  done  and  put  away;  but  she  found 
something  else  to  take  its  place  at  once  —  a  fine 
white  apron,  with  an  intricate  pattern  of  eyelets 
and  dots.  I  suppose  she  would  think  it  downright 
wicked  if  her  hands  were  not  always  employed.  I 
never  see  her  without  she  has  her  lap  full  of  work  — 
quilt,  or  apron,  or  something. 

If  I  were  to  write  what  I  am  really  thinking,  I  would 
write  Ernst — Ernst — a  name,  to  serve  as  a  charm,  to 
keep  troubled  thoughts  away.  There  is  a  face  I  long 
to  see, — a  fine,  strong,  honest,  kindly  face, — and 
eyes  within  whose  depths  a  true,  enduring  affection 
beams.  If  I  might  only  lay  my  head  against  Ernst's 
breast,  —  if  I  might  feel  his  hand  enclosing  mine ! 


CHAPTER  XXX 
BANDITS  BY  THE  FIRE 

WE  are  nearing  civilization !  We  passed  two 
dwelling  houses  yesterday.  One  was  a 
long,  low,  rambling  ranch-house,  built  of 
"dobe,"  the  other  a  little  Pueblo-Indian  hut.  The 
ranch-house  was  three  miles  from  the  trail.  Franz 
Bach  said: 

"It  iss  bedder  dot  it  was  furder  dan  t'ree  miles J 
You  can  schmell  him,  dis  close!  Leon  Darasse  live 
dere  wid  his  pigs  and  goats!  Schmell!  Oh,  my! 
De  dirtiest  house  effer  was!" 

After  this  strong  recommendation,  we  refrained 
from  riding  across  to  buy  butter,  as  we  had  purposed 
doing. 

The  second  dwelling  was  such  a  strange  little 
mud-covered  hole  in  the  ground  that  we  would  not 
have  recognized  it  for  a  human  habitation  if  the 
young  proprietor  had  not  stopped  us.  He  had 
everything  to  sell  —  chickens  and  eggs,  luscious 
melons,  green  string-beans,  peas  and  peppers,  and 
cows'-milk  cheese  and  butter.  Of  all  the  banquets 
that  were  ever  served!  Words  cannot  do  it  jus- 


278     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

tice!  But  we  showed  our  appreciation  —  there  was 
no  doubt  on  that  score. 

While  we  were  taking  our  nooning,  "Juan"  let 
us  go  where  we  would  and  see  all  there  was  to 
see.  He  had  a  little  drove  of  hogs,  a  little  flock  of 
sheep,  a  cow  and  a  hah*,  and  a  burro  almost  as  big 
as  Banff. 

A  mountain  stream  that  runs  across  the  valley  to 
join  the  Canadian-fork  has  been  turned  into  par- 
allel ditches  to  water  his  bit  of  ground,  which  he 
plows  with  a  pointed,  crooked  stick,  drawn  by  the 
burro  and  the  cow. 

I  was  making  a  sketch  of  the  wattled,  mud-smeared 
cottage,  when  I  thought  I  heard  someone  moving 
inside.  I  was  curious  to  know  what  the  interior  of 
such  a  place  could  be  like,  so  I  boldly  enough  knocked 
at  the  rude  lintel. 

No  one  answered,  but  I  saw  at  the  further  end  of 
the  darkened  room  a  brown  and  bashful  beauty, 
peeping  at  me  from  behind  her  hands  —  a  young 
Pueblo  Indian  girl.  She  wouldn't  come  out  to  me, 
and  she  wouldn't  invite  me  to  enter!  I  ran  back  to 
the  carriage  and  got  a  bead  collar  that  I  did  not 
care  for,  and  a  little  mirror,  to  give  her.  Behold  the 
Greeks  bearing  gifts!  The  little  brown  lady  was  so 
excited  that  she  quite  forgot  she  had  ever  been 
afraid. 


BANDITS    BY    THE    FIRE          279 

The  place  was  cleaner  than  some  white  folks' 
houses  that  I  have  seen.  On  one  side  were  the 
grinding-stones,  metates,  and  neatly  ranged  on  the 
shelves  above  were  the  vases  and  jars,  ollas,  and 
the  gourds,  guajes.  On  the  other  side  was  a  low 
platform  covered  with  home- woven  blankets.  Above 
this  platform  hung  all  her  finery,  spread  out  to  show 
to  the  best  advantage,  —  the  deerskin  jacket  and 
leggings,  the  coarse  but  snowy  chemise,  and  the 
scanty  bit  of  scarlet  cloth  that  served  her  for  a 
skirt,  and,  most  important  of  all,  the  twenty  or 
thirty  strands  of  blue  and  white  beads  that  made 
up  her  fiesta  necklace. 

The  little  hut  was  a  "home"  —  better  than  many 
a  palace;  for  love  was  there! 

I  could  understand  quite  a  little  of  what  she  tried 
to  say,  —  enough  to  know  that  she  and  her  adored 
esposo  had  been  church-married,  by  the  priest.  This 
was  their  second  year  upon  the  rancho.  "They  ; 
sell  mucho  to  the  Americanos!  Soon  be  rich, — 
go  where  the  madre  live  —  down  near  old  Pecos, 
si,  si!" 

She  asked  me  if  I  were Senora  —  a  married  lady! 
I  shook  my  head  emphatically,  but  she  looked 
roguish,  and  nodded  and  said,  Pronto  ?  and  laughed 
delightedly.  To  change  the  subject  I  took  the 
ribbons  from  my  hair,  and  tied  them  on  her  thick 


PILGRIMS   OF   THE    PLAINS 

black  braids  —  but  this  terminated  the  interview 
abruptly.  The  scarlet  ribbons  had  to  be  shown  to 
her  "Juan"  at  once. 

The  caravan  passed  on,  and  Adam  and  Eve  were 
left  to  each  other's  company,  in  their  Eden,  with 
the  pigs  and  the  sheep,  and  the  cow  and  a  half,  and 
the  tiny  burro !  —  richer  in  their  possessions  than 
many  who  count  their  wealth  by  the  hundreds  of 
thousands. 

This  is  the  region  of  the  great  Rockies.  The 
mountains  will  henceforth  be  always  in  our  sight, 
the  guardians  of  our  way. 

I  forget  how, many  days  ago  it  was  when  I  first 
saw  the  distant  mountain  range,  and  knew  it  for 
what  it  was.  I  had  been  watching  the  clouds  hi 
the  west,  glowing  under  the  last  beams  of  the 
quickly  vanishing  sun.  They  grew  pale,  and  melted 
into  nothingness.  Only  the  pallor  of  the  twilight 
sky  remained,  and,  lying  low  on  the  horizon,  a 
dark  edge  of  purple  cloud.  I  noticed  something 
strange  in  this,  for  while  other  clouds  were  moving, 
dissolving,  changing  with  every  moment,  this  cloud 
did  not  change.  Its  softly  serrated  outline  kept 
its  form,  and  still  showed  its  solid  bulk  against  the 
darkening  sky,  till  the  first  star-beams  were  kindled 
there.  And  then  I  knew  that  it  was  no  cloud, 


BANDITS    BY    THE    FIRE          281 

indeed,  but  the  lofty  crest  of  the  far-away  Rocky 
Mountains. 

It  was  late  this  afternoon  when  we  entered  the 
canon  of  the  Canadian.  The  river  brawls  along 
between  high  splintered  walls,  over  a  miry  bed, 
bestrewn  with  water- worn  rounded  boulders.  The 
track  we  follow  cannot  be  called  a  road.  There  are 
heaps  of  piled-up  stones  where  one  would  think  it 
impossible  for  wagons  to  go.  In  trying  to  avoid 
these  we  get  into  quagmires  that  threaten  to  hold 
us  in  their  slimy  clutch  forever,  in  spite  of  the  best 
efforts  of  our  teams.  The  river  itself  turns  des- 
perately first  to  this  side  of  the  canyon  and  then  to 
that.  We  have  crossed  it  eleven  times,  and  we  are 
not  out  of  the  canyon  yet! 

We  were  making  what  haste  we  could,  hoping  to 
get  through  it  before  time  to  go  into  camp,  when  the 
caravan  came  to  a  sudden  halt.  One  of  the  foremost 
wagons  had  smashed  itself  completely,  and  in  a 
place  where  there  was  no  room  for  another  team  to 
pass!  So  here  we  are!  And  so  we  had  to  make 
camp,  strung  out  along  the  trail,  in  a  horribly 
unprotected  position. 

Our  carriage  is  in  a  sheltered  corner,  a  little  nook 
in  the  eastern  wall  of  the  canyon,  near  a  clump  of 
pinon  and  cedar  trees.  John  and  Farrell  and  Danny 
gathered  heaps  of  dead  branches,  and  threw  them 


282     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

on  the  coals  of  our  campfire.  The  flame  crackled 
and  roared,  and  a  fountain  of  fire  sparks  streamed 
upward,  higher  than  rocks  that  shut  us  in. 

Close  to  the  blaze,  so  I  think  it  must  have  scorched 
them,  sat  the  Mexicans.  They  had  never  before 
presumed  to  enter  our  part  of  the  camp,  but  Hiram 
called  them,  to  give  orders  about  the  broken-down 
wagon,  and  being  there,  they  stayed.  They  were 
decked  out  in  an  extravagant  fashion,  in  gay  jackets, 
tasseled  sombreros,  fancy  neckerchiefs,  and  boots 
with  jingling  spurs. 

Danny  whispered  behind  his  hand  to  me: 

"Say,  doesn't  it  look  like  a  theater  scene?  We 
only  need  Twank  or  Joe-Lu  to  do  the  tremolo  and 
the  jumpy  chords  on  the  violins  to  make  it  exactly 
like  a  play  on  the  stage.  'Bandits  enter  L.U.E., 
take  position  in  Center,  around  practical  fire." 

It  was  theatrical  in  its  effect,  —  and  mightily 
effective!  The  firelight  displayed  to  advantage 
every  point  of  their  "costume"  and  "make-up," 
every  trick  of  manner.  We  noted  the  sprawling, 
lounging  attitudes,  the  rolling  of  the  everlasting 
cigarritos,  the  knotted  hands,  coarse  and  ugly,  the 
black  tangled  hair,  the  bronzed  faces,  the  full  red 
lips,  red  as  if  painted,  the  gleam  of  the  white 
teeth  under  black  mustaches,  the  glitter  of  white 
eyeballs  under  the  scraggly,  overhanging  brows, 


BANDITS    BY    THE    FIRE          283 

the  narrowed,  sidelong  glance,  restless,  sly,  and 
sinister. 

They  were  typical  stage  villains,  and  their  con- 
versation served  to  carry  out  the  illusion,  as  they 
related,  in  their  broken  English  and  mongrel  Spanish, 
a  series  of  horrid  and  blood-curdling  stories  —  of 
ghost-haunted  gulches,  caves,  guarded  by  skeletons, 
where  robbers  had  hidden  their  treasure,  of  caravans 
where  men  had  turned  on  each  other  with  the 
ferocity  of  beasts,  crazy  with  the  lust  of  blood. 
And  Arandez  told  with  an  over-abundance  of 
revolting  details  of  a  murder  he  had  witnessed  in 
Westport,  less  than  a  year  ago!  In  the  firelight  his 
face  looked  positively  diabolical,  —  and  poor  Jose- 
Marie,  the  weakest  and  sickliest  one  among  them, 
crumpled  down  in  a  heap,  and  gasped  and  struggled 
and  beat  the  air  with  his  hands !  Arandez  laughed,  a 
heartless,  sneering,  cruel,  laugh,  as  Ignacio  and 
Pedro  dragged  the  almost  unconscious  creature  off 
to  their  part  of  the  camp.  Arandez  lingered  to 
explain  that  the  man  was  crazy  drunk,  un  loco,  un 
borracho.  "Drink  mucho,  siempre!  No  bueno!" 
And  then  he,  too,  left  us,  —  much  to  our  relief. 
They  will  not  be  permitted  in  this  part  of  the  camp 
again,  so  Hiram  and  Danny  promise  us. 

As  the  Mexicans  left  us  we  heard  a  burst  of  gay 
laughter,  and  the  sound  of  lively  music!  Farrell 


284     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  Twank  and  Burt  Fones,  and  Eddie  Evans,  were 
serenading  the  different  groups  at  the  different  camp- 
fires.  They  were  not  singing  for  nothing!  There 
was  tribute  to  pay,  in  eatables  and  drinkables.  Mr. 
Williams  set  about  brewing  a  pot  of  strong  coffee; 
and  while  it  was  getting  ready  to  boil,  the  boys 
entertained  us  with  the  choicest  songs  in  their 
repertoire,  —  such  moving  melodies  as  "Billy  Boy," 
and  "Ranordine,"  and  "Come  where  my  love  lies 
dreaming,"  and  "Love's  Ritornella." 

Deep  down  hi  the  gorge,  we  could  see  only  a 
narrow  strip  of  sky  above  us,  but  we  knew  that  the 
full  moon  was  mounting  into  the  heavens,  for  her 
silver  lances  of  light  were  breaking  against  the  upper 
crags  of  our  dungeon  walls.  A  rainbow-tinted  misty 
veil  of  cloud  hid  the  stars  for  a  moment,  and  then 
the  Lady  Luna  took  possession  of  our  bit  of  sky. 
The  fantastically  splintered  rocky  walls  were  spark- 
ling with  diamond-bright  points  of  light,  like  Alad- 
din's Cave,  and  all  the  canyon  was  flooded,  filled 
to  the  brim  with  the  radiance  of  moonlight.  The 
air  was  like  balm,  warm  and  fragrant,  delicious  to 
breathe,  exquisitely  soft  and  caressing  in  its  touch. 

For  a  time  there  was  no  sound,  save  the  rippling 
of  the  little  river  against  its  stony  banks.  I  would 
have  said  there  was  no  thought  in  my  mind  but  that 
of  the  beauty  of  the  night,  —  but  there  must  have 


BANDITS    BY    THE    FIRE          285 

been  something  like  fear  there,  too,  for  I  felt  a  sudden 
and  distinct  throb  of  relief  when  Banff  crossed  over 
to  us  and  lay  down  between  Anna  and  me.  I  dared 
to  put  my  hand  on  his  head,  and  he  accepted  the 
caress  without  objection. 

To  the  others,  the  moonlight  must  have  been  like 
a  hasheesh-draught.  They  were  exuberantly,  wildly, 
gay.  Even  Anna  talked  and  laughed,  as  I  had  never 
heard  her  before.  She  almost  flirted  with  Farrell  — 
positively  —  and  Hiram  beamed  and  thought  it  was 
so  smart  of  her! 

Joe-Lu  felt  the  intoxication  of  the  moment,  and 
his  bow  fell  upon  the  responsive  strings  with  a 
savage  force  and  swing.  The  hollow  shell  thrilled 
with  the  stormy  ringing  sequences  —  caught  from 
no  one  knows  what  strange  source.  It  made  the 
breath  to  catch  in  the  throat,  and  the  heart  to  beat 
with  wild,  erratic  pulsations.  It  dominated  every- 
thing. The  boys'  laughter  and  nonsense  were  but 
the  running  accompaniment  to  the  wild  strains. 
Hiram  set  the  bonfire  to  blazing  high,  and  Danny 
and  Burt  indulged  themselves  in  a  riotous,  eccen- 
tric, wholly  extemporaneous  dance  that  the  Wal- 
purgis-night witches  might  have  envied,  for  its 
grotesqueness  and  abandon! 

Banff  was  growing  restless  and  uneasy.  Several 
times  he  lifted  his  head,  and  growled,  deep  in  his 


286     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

throat.  Anna  stroked  his  head,  and  bade  him  be 
quiet;  and  she  told  the  boys  to  stop  their  nonsense, 
as  Banff  did  not  like  it. 

She  had  hardly  spoken  when  the  sharp  report 
of  a  rifle  deafened  us.  The  echoing  walls  of  the 
gorge  repeated  it  again  and  again,  in  simultaneous 
crashes,  —  and  Banff  gave  one  deep  savage  cry,  and 
bounded  upward.  I  screamed,  for  I  thought  he  was 
springing  at  Anna's  throat.  It  was  his  unconscious 
death-struggle.  He  fell  at  our  feet,  —  dead ! 

We  were  shocked  —  stunned !  We  stood  there  dumb 
—  wondering  what  would  happen  next!  I  expected 
Joe-Lu  to  break  out  in  a  wild  fury,  —  but  he  only 
lifted  the  limp  body  in  his  arms,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
human  creature  whom  he  loved,  and  carried  it  to 
his  sleeping-place;  leaving  it  to  others  to  find  the 
one  who  had  fired  the  deadly  shot  into  the  midst 
of  our  circle.  Hiram  could  only  think  of  Anna. 
As  he  hurried  us  to  the  carriage  he  besought  her  not 
to  be  frightened  —  though  he,  himself,  was  all 
unnerved,  thinking  of  the  bullet  that  had  sped  by 
so  near  to  her! 

Danny  was  the  only  one  who  kept  his  wits.  The 
flash  of  the  gun  had  come  from  the  wagons  which 
sheltered  the  Mexicans.  Danny  was  the  first  one 
to  discover  Jose-Marie,  trembling  and  crying,  with 
his  gun  close  beside  him,  still  warm  and  smelling  of 


BANDITS    BY    THE    FIRE          287 

powder-smoke.  At  once  he  confessed  that  it  was 
his  gun  that  had  fired  the  shot. 

"But  I  not  fire  it!  I  would  not  purposely  kill 
the  dog!  No,  es  imposible!  —  though  the  gracious 
Senores  know  the  dog  is  a  wolf  of  the  most  vicious! 
I  fear  him  mucho,  but  I  fear  the  anger  of  our  Capitan, 
the  Senor  Harrod,  more!  And  he  would  not  allow 
that  harm  should  come  to  that  dog!  Also  the  great 
distance  —  and  the  darkness  —  I  could  not  shoot 
to  kill,  —  and  I  tremble  yet  with  the  sickness  that 
came  upon  me.  Because  I  am  afraid  —  always  I  am 
afraid  —  I  load  the  gun,  —  it  fall  —  it  shoot  itself 
off.  I  did  not  do  it!  I  swear  I  did  not  do  it,  —  in 
the  name  of  the  holy  Christ,  I  swear  it!" 

That  any  one  would  deliberately  fire  into  our 
group  was  a  thing  not  to  be  believed.  It  was  so 
manifestly  an  accident,  and  Jose  was  in  such  a  piti- 
able state  of  fear,  that  nothing  could  be  said  to  him 
in  the  way  of  reproof.  Instead,  Uncle  Pliny  and 
Danny  did  all  they  could  to  reassure  him,  and  Uncle 
Pliny  went  to  his  wagon  and  made  up  a  potent 
cordial,  and  gave  it  to  him,  and  stayed  by  his  side 
till  he  slept. 

Anna  and  I  sat  up  till  Hiram  came  to  tell  us  about 
Jose-Marie,  and  how  the  gun  had  been  accidentally 
discharged.  All  the  time  he  was  talking  I  noticed 
that  she  kept  her  hand  wound  up  tightly  in  the 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

corner  of  her  apron,  and  I  sent  Mr.  Himey  off  as 
quickly  as  I  could,  and  then  I  turned  to  her,  and 
unwound  her  hand  from  its  improvised  bandage. 
The  bullet  that  had  found  Banff's  heart  had  wounded 
her,  cutting  a  furrow,  hardly  more  than  skin-deep, 
across  her  white  palm.  I  washed  it  carefully,  and 
dressed  it,  and  bound  it  up;  and  then  she  let  me 
undo  her  hooks  and  eyes,  and  brush  and  arrange 
her  hair  for  the  night. 

In  half  a  dozen  minutes  she  was  sleeping,  calmly 
and  sweetly,  as  if  nothing  alarming  had  transpired; 
but  I  could  not  close  my  eyes,  I  knew,  so  I  did  not 
try.  I  tremble  yet  as  I  think  of  Death's  messenger 
that  came  so  near  to  us,  that  left  as  a  sign  that  red 
mark  upon  her  hand! 

A  cold  damp  breeze  is  sweeping  down  the  canyon. 
The  moon  has  forsaken  her  place  in  the  high  heavens, 
and  we  are  again  left  in  shadow. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
A  SONG  OF  MYSTERY 

THIS    morning    we   woke   up    to    find    that 
Hotchkiss  and  Jone  Wright  had  both   of 
them  slipped  away  in  the  night;  and  Franz 
Bach  said,  "Id  iss  vot  alvays  happens  ven  we  gedt 
near   der   towns!     Cifilization   plays   der   mischiefs 
mit  dem  poys !     Six  veeks  alretty  on  der  blains,  — 
id  iss  no  vonder  dey  like  to  gedt  vere  der  iss  a  city! 
Dey  iss  no  more  to  pe  depended  on  ven  we  gedt  near 
Santa  Fe!" 

It  was  Hotchkiss's  turn  to  go  on  guard  last  night 
for  the  second  watch.  Joe-Lu  was  to  have  been 
on  duty  till  Hotchkiss  came,  but  when  he  did  not 
put  in  an  appearance  Joe-Lu  kept  watch  till  four 
in  the  morning,  and  John  was  awakened  by  a  dis- 
turbance among  the  stock,  and  spent  the  rest  of 
the  night  walking  up  and  down  with  Joe-Lu;  and 
Joe-Lu  told  him  of  his  many  journeys  on  the  Missis- 
sippi, of  the  people  he  had  met,  and  the  scenes  along 
the  way. 

"For  all  that  he  is  so  quiet,"  John  said,  "it  isn't 
because  he  is  stupid.  There  isn't  a  sparkle  on  the 


290     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

river  that  he  does  not  notice  and  treasure  up  and 
put  into  music.  And  he  told  me  something  of  his 
plans  for  the  future.  Joe-Lu  will  never  be  satisfied 
to  stay  here  in  America.  There  are  other  countries 
where  a  man  of  talent,  as  he  is,  can  win  fame  and 
fortune  for  himself,  even  though  he  may  have  a 
black  skin. 

And  John  went  on  to  tell  how  Joe-Lu  was  on 
one  of  the  down-river  boats,  last  year  (of  course 
he  had  to  stay  with  the  roustabouts  below  deck),  and 
as  he  was  playing  one  night  on  that  instrument  of 
his,  he  looked  up,  and  saw  a  white-faced  woman 
leaning  over  the  rail,  listening  to  his  music.  It  was 
Therese  LeMoyne,  a  French  woman,  an  actress  from 
Paris,  from  the  Theatre  Franchise,  who  had  come  to 
America  for  a  vacation  and  rest.  There  were  three 
other  members  of  her  company  with  her,  and  they 
beckoned  to  Joe-Lu  to  come  up  on  deck  where  they 
were. 

"'Er  eyes  dat  big  an'  burnin',  an'  so  deep  dey  look 
into  mine,  it  make  me  shiver!  An'  she  make  de 
sign  fo'  me  to  come  mo'  nearer  to  'er,  —  and  I  go, 
lak  I  walkin'  in  my  sleep.  An'  she  say,  'Play,  boy! 
Play  fo'  me  yet  some  mo'!'  I  not  afraid  of  'er,  not 
'tall!  Dat  feedle  go  on  of  itself  an'  tell  'er  'bout  de 
gardens  of  N'  Orleans,  wid  de  sunshine  on  dem,  — , 
of  de  wide  river,  w'ere  it  open  into  de  Gulf,  wid  de 


A    SONG    OF    MYSTERY  291 

li'l  islands,  ev'y w'ere,  —  an'  of  de  harricane  dat 
sweep  de  canoe  out  into  de  ocean,  an'  de  sky  wid 
clouds  dat  come  down  an'  dip  into  de  deep  hollows 
of  de  waves.  I  already  see  dat  —  I  myself  was  in  a 
canoe  lak  dat!  So  den  de  feedle  it  tell  'er  all  dat, 
and  mo',  —  an'  w'en  I  drop  de  bow  she  lay  'er  w'ite 
han'  on  my  ahm,  an'  say,  'Come  to  Paris,  monsieur!' 
—  she  call  me  dat  a  way  —  'Come  to  Paris.  I 
promise  you  de  worl'  will  go  mad  for  de  music  in 
dat  won'erful  feedle,'  she  say.  An'  I  promise  'er 
dat  I  come,  someday,  an'  dat  is  w'at  I  t'ink  maybe 
I  do." 

There  would  be  a  future  for  Joe-Lu  there,  and  his 
color  would  not  handicap  him.  They  are  so  used  to 
dark-colored  people  in  Paris  they  would  not  notice  a 
shade  or  two  of  difference.  They  have  Spanish  and 
Creoles,  and  Italians  and  Greeks,  and  black  Rus- 
sians and  Moors,  and  they  don't  think  much  about 
the  color  of  a  man's  skin,  just  so  that  he  knows 
something,  just  so  he  can  do  something  —  that  is 
all  that  counts. 

"If  Joe-Lu  would  go  to  Paris,"  John  said,  "I  bet 
he'd  be  making  money  right  from  the  start,  for  there 
isn't  a  musician  like  him  in  the  world,  I  know  there 
isn't!" 

I  think  perhaps  Joe-Lu  would  not  have  spoken 
so  freely  to  John,  only  he  is  homesick  for  Auguste 


292     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  Franchy,  and  I  am  sure  he  misses  Banff  more 
than  he  would  like  to  own. 

He  has  been  playing  again  that  old  song  his 
mother  used  to  sing,  the  song  with  the  "Affican" 
words.  He  used  the  strangely-sweet  melody  as 
the  theme  of  a  series  of  wandering  improvisations, 
—  difficult  and  brilliant,  simple  and  unutterably 
plaintive.  The  refrain  so  often  repeated  fixed  itself 
in  my  memory  so  I  think  I  can  write  it  down. 


L(yr  p 

—  ^   <4— 

^     1        1 

-J  

LW  —  *  •  *  .  J.  -  J.  ' 

9  •  L-^ 

•*tp-* 

I/  ,  P 

1 

s  1— 

ffkPb  1  N—  I  r-- 

—  1  —  ^  —  d 

^             1 

~l  —  r 

532          J 

•    *          * 

*   J             * 

I/      •  -  *  j.  -j- 

J  —  ^~ 

•       9 

N      h.     I 

•    * 

~i  

-^- 

-4— 

.     Q    fr  ,—  |  — 

-i  1  1—  i  —  r 

^M^ 

PP 

-J  —  1 

SEti  —  f^^ 

1  -i  

=£^={=£= 

S 

We-a-chi-no-li ;    We-a-chi-chi-no-li. 
Lu-bel-pe-be-she ;     We-a-chi-chi-no-a-li. ' ' 

Neither  Franchy  nor  Joe-Lu  know  what  the 
words  mean,  only,  as  Franchy  says,  "From  de  way 
Mammy  Jule  sing  dem,  we  know  dey  be  love-song, 
an'  fo'  loneliness!" 

Whenever  Joe-Lu  sings  that  song,  I  always  see, 


A    SONG    OF    MYSTERY  293 

see,  in  my  mind,  the  same  picture,  —  the  picture  of 
a  dark  ship  on  a  tropic  sea,  a  majestic  womanly 
figure,  straight  and  tall,  like  a  statue  of  bronze, 
standing  on  deck,  stretching  out  her  arms  to  the 
shore,  —  Heaven's  glory  above  her  —  the  dark  and 
fetid  shambles  of  the  slaves'  quarters  under  her  feet. 
Far  away,  beyond  the  fast  disappearing  shore,  are 
the  friends  of  her  childhood,  all  whom  she  has 
known  and  loved,  and  she  sings  this  song,  —  a  song 
of  mystery,  of  haunting  fears,  of  hopes,  vague, 
elusive,  —  hopes  destined  never  to  be  fulfilled ! 

"Boy-John!  Boy-John!"  It  is  Joe-Lu  calling. 
He  and  John  and  Danny  and  Franz  Bach  are  going 
up  the  canyon  to  the  north,  after  a  flock  of  mountain- 
sheep  that  someone  has  seen  in  that  direction.* 
This  is  their  avowed  purpose,  but  Franz  Bach  says, 
"  Maype,  too,  we  see  de  redt  schmoke  of  der  camp- 
fire  of  dot  Bent's  Fordt  Barty!  Id  iss  dime  dot  dey 
vos  coming.  Maype  so,  we  pring  dem  pack  mit  us» 
Id  would  not  pe  so  strange." 


CHAPTER  XXXH 
THE  PRICK  OF  THE  SHARP  BLADE 

THE  Mexican  waifs  will  never  trouble  our 
part  of  the  camp  again,  for  they  are  gone, 
and  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it!  They 
have  taken  Barnaby  and  Aguilita,  and  most  of  the 
mules,  and  guns  and  powder  and  provisions,  seven 
hundred  dollars  in  gold  out  of  Uncle  Pliny's  money 
chest.  And  Captain  Harrod  has  had  my  brother 
John  arrested,  with  Wes  Beasely  and  Downing. 

They  were  all  three  doing  guard  duty  last  night 
for  our  section,  and  Captain  Harrod  says  one  of 
them  was  guilty  of  criminal  negligence,  if  they  did 
not  actively  assist  in  the  robbery!  It  was  in  our 
section  that  the  wagons  had  been  unchained  to  let 
the  robbers  through.  The  trail  was  plain  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  No  one  thinks  that  John  would 
willingly  let  the  thieves  get  away  with  their  booty, 
but  it  is  possible  he  might  have  been  asleep,  or  he 
might  have  been  careless  about  keeping  strict  watch, 
and  so  he  is  held  with  the  other  two. 

Wes  Beasely  was  the  first  one  to  be  questioned. 
He  hesitated  and  stammered  and  looked  guilty, 


PRICK    OF    THE    SHARP    BLADE    295 

right  from  the  start,  and  he  told  a  most  evasive  and 
crooked  story.  No,  he  had  not  slept,  he  could 
swear  to  that;  he  heard  no  unusual  sound,  he  had 
walked  his  beat  all  the  time,  as  he  was  expected  to 
do.  Well  then,  yes,  he  had  stopped,  but  only  for  a 
moment,  to  talk  with  Ignacio.  Yes,  as  Lieutenant  "* 
Stoneman  saw,  he  believed  he  did  play  one  little 
game  of  cards  with  that  Ignacio,  —  surely  only  one 
game!  Drink? — one  little  drink,  that  was  positively 
all!  He  was  ready  to  take  his  most  solemn  oath 
that  the  escape  from  the  camp  was  not  while  he  was 
on  duty,  not  between  the  hours  from  ten  to  twelve, 
—  and  his  protestations  sounded  almost  genuine. 

Downing,  who  followed  Beasely  in  the  night 
watch,  was  next  called  upon,  and  he  declared 
emphatically  that  Beasely  did  not  "show  up"  till 
long  after  he,  Downing,  came  on  duty,  —  possibly 
half  an  hour,  anyway  twenty  minutes,  he  could  not 
be  sure.  Beasely  had  undoubtedly  been  drinking, 
was  drunk  "as  a  boiled  owl,"  —  that  was  the  plain  * 
fact  in  the  case.  Downing  himself  had  been  wide 
awake;  he  had  patrolled  his  beat  as  usual,  and  had 
seen  nothing  out  of  the  way,  heard  no  sound .  Though 
the  Deacon  and  Captain  Harrod  questioned  him 
sharply  and  closely  he  was  not  flurried.  He  had  a 
plain  story  to  tell,  and  told  it  quietly,  and  stuck 
to  it. 


296     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

John's  cheeks  blazed  red  when  he  was  examined, 
and  he  was  very  nervous.  Yes,  he  was  sometimes 
afraid  when  he  was  on  guard,  and  more  so  than  ever 
since  Banff  had  been  killed;  but  he  would  not  let 
that  interfere  with  his  duty.  Down  through  the 
high  grass  —  out  to  the  clump  of  cedar-trees  —  he 
had  walked  his  beat  from  end  to  end.  Yes,  he  had 
been  out  with  the  hunting  party,  the  night  before, 
and  his  eyes  were  heavy  enough  to  almost  close 
themselves  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts  to  keep  them 
open  —  but  he  did  not  sleep.  Yes,  he  forgot,  he 
did  leave  the  line  of  his  beat  once  —  he  walked  down 
to  the  river,  where  he  thought  he  saw  something 
moving,  but  found  it  was  only  a  shirt  hung  out  on  a 
bush  to  dry.  He  was  certain,  perfectly  certain, 
that  the  Mexicans  did  not  leave  the  camp  while  he 
was  on  guard. 

There  were  other  witnesses  to  be  called  after 
breakfast;  witnesses  who  said  they  had  heard  things, 
or  had  noted  suspicious  circumstances,  witnesses 
eager  to  be  allowed  to  talk. 

The  three  guards  had  not  been  permitted  to  hear 
each  other's  testimony,  and  now  they  were  to  be 
kept  separated,  so  that  no  one  should  speak  to  them 
till  the  examination  was  over. 

It  did  hurt  to  see  John  under  surveillance,  as  if 
he  were  a  criminal,  even  though  we  knew  that  all 


PRICK    OF    THE    SHARP    BLADE    297 

must  be  treated  alike.  But  Joe-Lu  did  not  take  it 
philosophically;  he  was  beside  himself  with  wrath. 

"No  need  to  set  dat  Beauchemie  to  watch  Boy 
John!  'E  tell  'em  dat  'e  know  not'ing  'bout  de 
robbery,  —  ain't  dat  'nough?  W'y  dey  not  go 
after  de  t'ieves  —  dat's  w'at  I  say,  an'  make  dem 
say  who  is  de  traitor  in  dis  camp!  I  go,  myself! 
Not  ask  nobody!  I  take  care  myself!" 

His  eyes  flashed  fiery  gleams,  his  voice  was 
hoarse,  his  frame  was  trembling  with  indignation. 
He  plunged  into  the  stream,  his  eyes  scanning  every 
overhanging  branch,  every  displaced  stone,  that 
might  give  him  the  trail  they  had  taken.  His 
training  in  the  north-woods  served  him  well,  for 
once  found,  the  fugitives'  tracks  were  as  plain  to 
his  eyes  as  if  sign-posts  had  been  set  up  for  his 
guidance. 

Breakfast  seemed  an  interminable  meal.  When 
at  last  it  was  finished,  Truesdale  and  Hilton,  and 
several  others,  told  what  they  knew,  and  what  they 
guessed  at;  but  their  surmisings,  and  the  things 
they  had  heard  amounted  to  nothing.  And  Wes 
Beasely  was  going  over  his  story  again,  incriminat- 
ing himself  more  and  more  deeply  with  every  word 
he  uttered,  when  Captain  Harrod  caught  sight  of 
Joe-Lu  in  the  distance,  striding  along,  dragging 


298     PILGRIMS1OF    THE    PLAINS 

Jose-Marie  after  him,  over  prickly-pears,  and  be- 
tween rows  of  spiny  thorny  cactus,  quite  as  if  the 
Mexican  were  but  a  straw-stuffed  scarecrow,  — 
dirty,  disheveled,  all  but  frightened  to  death  Jose- 
Marie!  Sustained  by  his  wrath,  Joe-Lu  counted 
the  man's  weight  as  nothing;  and  as  if  it  were  but  a 
bundle  of  dirty  straw  that  he  carried,  he  threw  his 
load  down  at  the  Captain's  feet,  and  with  a  fine  air 
of  unconscious  dignity,  he  said: 

"Dere  'e  is!  Ask  'im  w'at  you  want  to  know! 
'E  tell  you  ev'yt'ing!  Yaas!  'E  was  coming 
back  —  of  'imself  —  purpose  to  tell !  I  bring  'im 
a  li'l  quicker,  da's  all!" 

Jose-Marie  lay  on  the  ground  where  he  had  been 
cast,  and  as  he  lay  there  his  lips  babbled  out  his 
story. 

"Si,  si,  Senores,  —  it  is  the  truth  I  wish  to  speak 
—  I  cannot  bear  the  burden  of  such  thoughts  — 
such  wickedness !  —  They  beat  me  on  the  head,  they 
slash  me  with  knife,  because  I  would  not  they  should 
do  robbery  so  vile !  I  tell  them,  all  the  time  I  tell 
them,  it  was  wickedness  too  monstrous  —  after 
you  save  us  from  the  death,  and  treat  us  like  we  be 
brother.  Uncle  Pliny,  he  so  good.  And  to  take 
the  gold  from  his  chest!  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  planning!  Si,  si,  Senores,  I  mean  to  tell  you 
all!  Who  help  us  out  of  camp?  You  not  know 


PRICK  OF  THE  SHARP  BLADE 

that,  already?  Surely  it  was  that  Downing,  —  who 
else?  He  and  Arandez,  they  make  it  up  between 
them." 

Downing's  guards  were  so  intent  on  the  Mexi- 
can's story,  they  had  forgotten  to  watch  their 
prisoner!  Without  warning,  he  sprung  upon  Jose- 
Marie,  and  struck  him  in  the  back  with  a  knife! 
His  desperate  act  was  repented  of,  however,  before 
it  was  consummated,  for  he  dropped  the  weapon 
and  said,  sullenly: 

"  This  Jose-Marie  is  a  fool  —  and  crazy  besides ! 
There  is  no  word  of  truth  in  him!  He  is  a  liar  and 
the  father  of  liars!" 

The  prick  of  the  sharp  blade  drove  Jose-Marie 
to  frenzy. 

"Fool?  Liar?  That  Downing  to  say  that  to  me! 
I  prove  what  I  say!  Crazy?  Me?  Look  you, 
then,  in  his  wagon;  in  his  chest,  in  the  bottom 
is  secret  place!  There  you  find  the  gold!  You 
see!  —  Then  you  say  if  I  un  loco!  Crazy!  And 
liar!" 

Stoneman  went  to  investigate,  but  before  he 
could  return,  Downing  had  confessed  his  treachery. 
Without  protest,  with  a  stupid  unconcern,  he 
allowed  the  iron  shackles  to  be  placed  upon  his 
wrists. 

Stoneman  found  the  chest,  and  the  secret  place 


300     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

with  the  money,  just  as  the  Mexican  had  said.  The 
gold  had  not  been  taken  out  of  the  money-bags. 
Uncle  Pliny  had  kept  them  on  the  counter,  open 
and  unguarded  in  the  daytime;  it  was  only  at 
night  that  he  locked  them  up  in  the  chest, — we  all 
knew  the  look  of  Uncle  Pliny's  money-bags!  I  was 
so  glad  to  see  the  gold  back  in  his  hands.  I  do  hope 
he  will  make  money  enough,  this  trip,  so  he  can  stay 
in  Tennessee,  as  he  wants  to  do,  and  build  the  "ell" 
on  his  "darter's"  house,  and  buy  her  the  new  loom, 
and  the  big  "store-rocker"  for  himself,  —  so  he  can 
always  "set  by  the  fire,  with  Loretty's  children 
a-playin'  round!" 

I  was  talking  with  Uncle  Pliny,  and  forgot  the 
Mexican,  —  but  he  was  still  explaining. 

"That  Beasely,  he  no  sabe,  but  help,  just  the  same. 
Ignacio  make  monkey  —  cat-paw  —  of  him.  He 
play  card,  get  drunk,  mucho!  We  make  pack 
upon  the  mules,  and  tie  buckskin  over  hoofs,  so 
there  be  no  noise.  Then  Downing  come,  —  he 
go  on  his  beat,  —  he  not  look !  We  unchain  the 
wagon,  and  get  away,  —  and  for  that  Ignacio  give 
him  Uncle  Pliny's  money! 

"Wait,  wait,  si,  si,  I  tell  you!  Why  take  so 
much  powder?  I  hide  nothing!  It  this  way.  We 
have  secret  of  the  great  mine  —  La  Glorieta  mine, 
that  has  been  hid  for  so  many  year,  —  covered  up 


PRICK    OF    THE    SHARP    BLADE    301 

under  the  sliding  down  of  a  great  hill.  We  have 
the  map,  that  tell  us  where  to  look  for  the  entrance 
of  that  mine.  It  take  much  powder!  So  we  get 
powder  from  the  Captain's  wagons,  and  the  other 
things  what  we  need  from  Uncle  Pliny.  Sabe? 
It  take  many  mules  to  carry  off  the  treasure.  Such 
treasure!  We  be  rich,  we  think,  rich  like  the  richest 
in  Mexico,  in  Spain !  Our  hands  full  of  the  treasure 
of  the  mine,  —  La  Glorieta! 

"Yet,  look  you,  Sefiores!  I  swear  to  you  that 
I  tell  them  no  luck  come  if  they  rob  these  people 
so  kind  to  us.  But  they  no  listen.  I  go  with  them 
—  what  else  can  I?  Yet  I  knew  Death  was  on  our 
track,  and  I  say  to  them,  'It  is  Friday,  and  of  the 
month,  the  thirteenth!9  And  as  we  leave  the  camp 
a  night-hawk  flap  her  wings  in  my  face,  and  cross 
our  path  with  double  cross !  —  So  always  I  beg 
them  to  go  back !  And  I  weep,  —  and  then  when 
we  down  in  arroyo  they  stab  me,  and  strike  me 
'cross  the  head,  so  that  blood  blind  my  eyes! 

"Blood  in  my  face,  and  on  my  mouth!  Like  as 
when  the  blood  from  that  old  Spanish  Senor  was  on 
me  —  For  Di6s!  I  have  enough  of  blood!  My 
God,  yes!  Not  for  the  richest  mine  in  Mexico 
would  I  go  with  them  further!  I  slip  from  my 
mule.  In  the  darkness  they  no  see.  I  come  back 
to  tell  you,  —  so  I  hope  for  forgiveness.  And  I 


302      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

find  this  good  nigger-man,  and  he  help  so  I  arrive 
with  more  swiftness.  See,  I  tell  you  all." 

Oh,  no;  not  all!  He  had  hinted  at  another  crime, 
that  he  had  had  a  part  in,  and  the  Captain  deter- 
mined to  know  that  story  also.  Jose-Marie  looked 
up  blankly  at  the  Captain's  first  question  in  regard 
to  this. 

No,  —  yes,  —  he  knew  not  what  he  said !  Things 
no  true,  —  he  so  frightened  —  so  sick  —  un  loco  — 
even  as  Downing  had  said! 

Jose-Marie,  even  bewildered  as  he  was,  knew  that 
to  admit  complicity  in  a  murder  was  to  sign  a  death- 
warrant  for  himself.  But  under  the  fire  of  Captain 
Harrod's  glance,  his  little  soul  shrivelled  into  noth- 
ingness, and  his  lips  poured  forth  all  that  had  found 
lodgment  in  his  consciousness. 

There  were  seven  Mexicans,  thieves  and  cut- 
throats all,  who  had  wintered  in  Westport,  — 
Jose-Marie,  Arandez,  Ignacio,  Pedro,  and  three 
others.  During  the  winter  a  half-witted  old  man, 
an  old  Spanish  Don,  whom  they  had  seen  many 
times  in  Santa  Fe,  Don  Enrique  de  Velasco,  made 
his  appearance  in  the  town. 

This  old  Velasco  was  sour  and  morose,  a  savage 
when  aroused,  but  because  the  hand  of  the  Great 
Spirit  had  beclouded  his  faculties  the  Indians  gave 
him  food  and  shelter.  Perhaps  he  may  have 


'PRICK    OF    THE    SHARP    BLADE    303 

remembered  the  faces  of  Arandez  and  the  others, 
for  after  he  saw  them  he  attached  himself  to  them, 
so  they  could  not  rid  themselves  of  him,  so  Jose- 
Marie  said. 

"One  night  we  all  drinking.  I  sleep  on  floor 
by  the  table.  Arandez  is.  craze  when  liquor  in 
him,  and  for  nothing  at  all,  only  that  he  is  wicked 
and  cruel  always,  he  stab  the  old  Senor!  I  sleep! 
I  know  nothing!  But  it  is  upon  me  that  he  fall! 
His  blood  upon  me!  And  they  not  help  me  rise, 
—  they  laugh  and  leave  me  there!  They  strip 
his  clothes  from  him,  and  find,  —  not  money, 
but  much  better,  in  a  package  wrapped  with  folds 
of  silk,  the  map  of  the  mine  of  which  I  tell  you  — 
La  Glorieta! 

"We  frighten  at  thought  of  the  riches  to  be 
ours!  We  hide  the  body,  and  drink  no  more.  We 
hire  to  that  Caravan  out  of  Westport  in  early  May. 
They  think  we  work  best  of  all  they  have  hire. 
And  all  time  we  plan  to  rob  —  when  we  get  near 
Mora-mountain,  to  rob  them  of  what  we  need 
to  win  that  treasure  of  the  mine,  —  pack-mules, 
and  powder  and  all.  We  plan,  —  but  it  happen 
most  different! 

"We  go  off  together  at  night  to  make  the  last 
agreement  together,  what  each  one  do  —  what 
share  each  one  have.  We  come  back  —  the  camp 


304      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

is  not!    Every  man  dead!    Then  we  go  on  desert 

—  you  find  us  when  we  give  up  to  die!    You  took 
us  as  brother!     We  weep,  among  ourselves  —  even 
Arandez,  —  and  we  swear  on  the  cross  to  live  honest, 
to  give  you  faithful  service,  because  you  save  us. 
Yet  in  few  days,  Arandez  again  talk  of  the  treasure, 
show  the  map,  and  urge  us  take  what  we  need  and 
go.     But  there  was  the  dog,   the  wolf  dog.     We 
make   move,   Banff   he   know!     So   Arandez,   first 
chance  come,   kill  him!     Yes,   take  my  gun,   and 
when  fire  blaze  up  bright,  take  the  long  sight,  and 
fire.     He  kick  me  with  foot  and  laugh,  and  go  — 
and  leave  me  to  make  answer.     Always  it  is  me 
to  suffer  —  always  it  is  me  to  bear  the  blame,  and 
I  wish  to  harm  no  one!     The  gracious  Capitan  will 
not  forget  that  I,  of  myself,  come  back  to  tell  all? 
I  care  for  nothing  so  I  see  that  Arandez  never  again, 

—  never  again!" 

It  was  the  force  of  Captain  Harrod's  will  that  had 
sustained  Jose-Marie  thus  far,  and  when  the  Cap- 
tain turned  away  to  give  orders  for  the  moving  of 
the  caravan,  the  Mexican  collapsed  in  a  heap,  and 
had  to  be  carried  to  the  wagon.  It  was  Uncle 
Pliny  who  cared  for  him,  and  Uncle  Pliny  who 
found  excuse  for  him. 

"That  Arandez  was  to  blame,  —  he  was  an  out- 
an'-out  bad-un,  without  ary  spark  of  good!  It 


PRICK    OF    THE    SHARP    BLADE     305 

wan't  to  be  expected  that  a  sickly  little  feller  like 
this  Jose-Marie  'd  be  able  to  say  him  no.  Pretty 
decent  of  him,  I  call  it,  to  leave  'em,  and  come 
back,  with  all  that  treasure  in  sight,  —  an'  I  do 
suppose  he  believed  them  tales  'bout  that  mine, 
though  it's  likely  that  the  map  an'  all  was  jest  some 
lie  that  Arandez  got  up,  for  some  purpose  of  his 
own.  Tain't  likely  they's  a  mite  of  truth  in  it!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
MY  RIGHTFUL  PLACE,  FOREVERMORE 

NEVER  was  a  day  more  bright  and  lovely! 
There  is  a  crisp  hint  of  iciness  in  the  air, 
-  just  enough  to  make  one's  cheeks  and 
fingers  tingle  with  life,  just  enough  to  make  one 
long  for  a  wild  swift  gallop  down  the  valley,  with 
the  tall  grasses  dimpling  and  billowing  in  the  wind 
before  you !  Only,  my  pretty  dear,  my  pony  Aguilita, 
is  not  here  to  carry  me. 

The  lovely  open  valley  clothed  in  soft  green  is 
like  a  glimpse  of  Paradise  to  our  cattle!  The  poor 
beasties  have  been  overworked  and  underfed,  ever 
since  we  left  the  Arkansas  river.  They  are  hardly 
more  than  skin  and  bone.  They  have  earned  a 
good  long  rest,  and  they  will  have  it  here;  for  we 
will  stop  here  to  repair  our  wagons  and  rearrange 
our  loads,  getting  them  ready  for  government 
inspection. 

There  are  only  a  few  idlers  in  camp  —  Farrell 
Montgomery,  and  Burt  Fones,  and  Twank,  and  Mr. 
Willard,  and  Anna  and  I.  We  are  in  the  busy 


RIGHTFUL   PLACE    FOREVERMORE    307 

people's  way,  so  Captain  Harrod  was  easily  per- 
suaded to  let  us  go  over  to  Eagle  Mountain  for  the 
day.  Enos  Quackenbos  is  to  go  with  us  as  military 
escort.  Mr.  Williams  and  his  cook  wagon  are  not 
to  be  left  behind,  and  we  will  enjoy  our  dinner  al 
fresco  at  the  foot  of  the  big  splintered  rock  that  juts 
out  from  the  mountain. 

We  feel  as  if  this  were  a  real  adventure,  but  it 
will  not  be  a  very  wild  one,  for  we  will  be  in  sight, 
and  within  signalling  distance,  of  the  caravan  all 
the  time. 

I  am  glad  Anna  is  going.  Somehow  she  does  not 
seem  her  usual  quiet  self.  I  suppose  she  is  still 
nervous  from  the  shock  of  that  wound,  and  Banff's 
death,  and  the  robbery,  and  all. 

Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!  We  are  off  for  Eagle 
Mountain! 

It  is  Sunday  afternoon,  and  we  are  at  Santa  Clara 
Springs.  I  am  lying  here  in  bed,  fully  awake  after 
hours  of  unconsciousness  —  like  sleep,  only  it  was 
not  real  sleep,  for  I  knew  that  John  was  bathing  my 
head,  and  tending  me.  I  knew  that  Ernst  was 
with  me,  too.  He  has  helped  John  to  lift  me,  that 
I  might  rest  easier,  and  they  have  tried  to  persuade 
me  to  eat  and  drink.  I  miss  Anna.  She  is  not 
in  camp.  I  do  not  understand.  They  say  that 


308     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

she  and  Hiram  went  down  to  Mora,  and  that  they 
are  waiting  for  us  there.     It  is  strange. 

It  seems  weeks  since  we  were  getting  ready  for 
that  little  summer-day  outing  over  on  Eagle  Moun- 
tain, and  it  was  only  yesterday  morning,  but  I  can 
not  think  about  that! 

Sudden  waves  of  drowsiness  come  over  me,  even 
when  I  think  I  am  not  sleepy.  I  think  I  must  have 
been  sleeping  just  now,  for  I  seemed  to  hear  the 
church  bells  ringing — the  bells  at  home.  Ding-dong, 
ding-ding-dong!  —  till  the  air  was  full  of  the  sound. 
And  then  I  was  in  church,  and  father  and  mother 
were  coming  up  the  aisle,  and  mother  was  wearing 
her  new  Paisley  shawl,  and  the  girls,  Lucy  and 
Martha  and  Margaret  and  Mary-Belle,  were  sitting 
in  the  choir.  And  our  minister  opened  the  pulpit 
Bible,  and  read: 

"Thou  shalt  not  fear  for  the  terror  by  night,  nor 
for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day.  There  shall  no 
evil  befall  thee  for  He  shall  give  His  angels  charge 
over  thee,  —  they  shall  bear  thee  up  in  their  hands, 
lest  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone.  The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  —  He  maketh  me  to  lie 
down  in  green  pastures.  He  leadeth  me  beside  the 
still  waters  " 

My  eyes  are  heavy  


RIGHTFUL    PLACE    FOREVERMORE    309 

It  is  Monday  morning,  and  we  are  still  at  Santa 
Clara  Springs. 

All  of  the  long  evening,  all  of  the  long  night,  I 
have  slept,  a  sweet  dreamless  sleep;  and  I  awoke 
with  the  dawn,  a  new  creature.  Only  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  with  my  body,  for  when  I  try  to  move 
my  limbs,  I  can  not !  But  the  me,  inside  of  my  body, 
is  all  right!  In  spite  of  what  has  happened,  I  feel 
not  exhaustion  but  exhilaration,  as  if  there  were  a 
new  energy  flooding  my  veins.  If  I  could  only 
stand  and  walk! 

Up  on  Eagle  Mountain  my  horse  fell  and  almost 
crushed  the  life  out  of  me;  but  the  hurt  will  soon  be 
over,  and  the  weakness  will  pass,  and  I  will  be  up 
climbing  another  mountain  before  the  week  is  out. 
That  is  what  I  told  Uncle  Pliny.  He  and  Danny 
were  whispering  together  just  outside  the  carriage 
curtains,  and  I  heard  them,  as  if  they  had  whispered 
in  my  ear. 

"Will  Deya  be  a  cripple  always,  do  you  think?" 

I  pulled  back  the  curtain  and  answered  them 
promptly. 

"No,  she  won't  be  a  cripple,  nor  anything  like 
one !  And  right  now  she  wants  her  breakfast,  — 
and  someone  to  wait  on  her!" 

Uncle  Pliny  laughed  his  fat  comfortable  chuckle 
and  said: 


310     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

"Seems  like  someone  is  purty  peart  an*  sassy! 
An'  I  don't  reckon  she's  half  so  bad  hurted  as  she's 
been  pertendin'!  An'  anyway  it's  the  best  sign 
they  is,  when  an  invalid  gets  smart  and  snappy!" 

They  stayed  on  the  outside  while  John  made  me 
presentable,  and  then  I  ate  my  breakfast  —  and 
it  was  not  an  invalid's  breakfast  either.  They  told 
me  all  the  camp  news,  —  and  then  I  slept  again ! 

Ernst  is  so  comfortable  to  get  along  with.  He 
does  not  bother  with  questions.  He  just  quietly 
takes  it  ^f  or  granted  that  we  are  betrothed;  and  that 
seems  to  me  now  to  be  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.  It  is  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  for 
years  and  years,  —  as  if  I  had  promised  myself  to 
him  long  ago! 

He  gives  me  credit  for  knowing  what  I  ought  to 
do,  and  what  I  ought  not  to  do;  and  when  I  asked 
him  for  this  Journal  book,  he  got  it  for  me,  and 
smiled  a  sure  smile  when  I  told  him  I  would  only 
write  a  little  at  a  time,  as  I  feel  like  it. 

When  Captain  Harrod  told  us  we  might  go  over 
to  Eagle  Mountain,  he  expected  us  to  stay  in  sight 
of  camp.  And  so  we  meant  to  do;  but  when  we 
arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  big  cliff,  we  straightway 
forgot.  The  men  found  the  fresh  trail  of  a  deer, 


RIGHTFUL   PLACE   FOREVERMORE    311 

and  they  hardly  stopped  for  a  word  of  explanation 
before  they  disappeared,  Enos  Quackenbos  being 
the  first  one  to  go. 

Anna  and  I  were  settled  comfortably  in  the 
carriage,  when  John  came  up  to  tell  me  he  was  going 
to  climb  the  cliff.  He  pointed  out  a  pair  of  big 
eagles  that  had  all  the  morning  been  flying  in 
and  out  around  the  top  of  a  pointed  crag.  We 
had  noticed  them  before  we  left  camp,  and  the  old 
plainsmen  said  it  was  the  same  pair  that  had  nested 
there  for  years,  —  the  very  ones  for  whom  the 
mountain  was  named.  John  thought  he  could 
climb  to  a  point  above  the  nest,  and  look  down  into 
it.  He  did  not  ask  me  to  go  with  him,  but  when  I 
got  up  in  a  hurry  and  tied  on  my  sun  hat,  he  invited 
me.  "Come  along!  It's  more  fun  when  there  are 
two  of  us!"  Anna  thought  it  was  all  right,  my 
going,  and  I  told  her  we  would  see  her  again  in  an 
hour.  An  hour!  And  I  haven't  seen  her  since! 

The  face  of  that  split-off  rock  was  almost  per- 
pendicular, only  there  were  footholds  and  stair-steps, 
that  we  could  scramble  up  by.  When  we  reached 
the  top  of  the  rock  we  stood  and  looked  about  us. 
I  knew  that  Anna  was  sewing  placidly  there  in  the 
carriage  but  though  I  called  and  called  she  did  not 
look  up.  We  were  two  hundred  feet  and  more, 
above  the  level  of  the  valley. 


312     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

The  eagles  were  still  in  sight,  and  John  was  sure 
they  were  feeding  a  nest-full  of  little  ones.  The 
crag  where  we  were  was  almost  entirely  cut  off  from 
the  main  body  of  the  mountain.  In  order  to  cross 
the  chasm  that  lay  between  them,  we  had  to  creep 
across  a  narrow  ridge  of  rock,  like  a  bridge.  From 
the  further  side  of  the  narrow  causeway  there 
seemed  to  be  a  good  path  leading  diagonally  upward 
to  the  mesa-crest. 

We  lost  our  eagles!  We  searched  the  rocks  and 
sky  for  them,  but  they  had  vanished.  We  waited, 
hoping  they  would  come  back,  and  while  we  were 
waiting  an  ugly  buzzard,  a  monstrous  bird,  — 
sailed  down,  almost  within  stone's  throw,  and  John 
fired,  and  missed  it.  I  laughed  at  him,  it  looked  to 
be  such  an  easy  shot.  John  blamed  the  sun  in  his 
eyes,  the  wind,  everything  but  his  own  marksman- 
ship. To  show  it  was  not  his  skill  that  was  at  fault, 
he  fired  at  a  staring  white  mark  on  a  big  round 
stone,  lodged  some  thirty  yards  above  us  on  the 
slope.  It  was  a  fine  natural  target,  and  we  wasted 
our  ammunition  on  it,  each  striving  to  outdo  the 
other.  The  impact  of  the  bullets  set  the  stone  to 
rocking.  That  was  sport  too,  and  we  fired  again 
and  again. 

The  boulder  was  insecurely  balanced,  and  it 
began  to  turn  and  slide  down  through  the  ashy 


RIGHTFUL   PLACE    FOREVERMORE    313 

debris  that  held  it.  There  was  another  rock  just 
like  it,  a  little  way  below,  and  we  had  just  time  to 
jump  aside,  when  they  both  came  thundering  by 
us!  We  looked  at  each  other,  and  held  our  breath. 
We  felt  the  force  of  a  great  rushing  wind.  There 
were  tons  of  rock  plunging  downward.  It  was  a 
resistless  avalanche  when  it  struck  that  split-off 
crag!  There  was  a  crash,  like  the  crash  of  Dooms- 
day; and  a  shock  that  made  the  mountain  shake 
and  tremble.  Crag  and  flying  rock  made  the  leap 
together  into  the  valley  below.  We  were  enveloped 
in  a  cloud  of  dust,  thick  and  stifling  as  smoke,  and 
our  hearts  stood  still  with  an  awful  fear,  for  those 
we  had  left  below !  Then  we  saw  them  —  from  the 
dizzy  perch  at  the  edge  of  the  gulf  where  we  were 
standing.  Tears  of  thankfulness  poured  from  our 
eyes,  for  they  were  safe  —  we  were  safe! 

Enos  Quackenbos  was  foolish  enough  to  think 
that  he  could  climb  to  us  from  below,  but  between 
us  was  a  bare  white  scar  of  stone,  impassable  to 
anything  that  had  not  wings. 

The  camp  was  aroused.  We  could  see  the  men 
hurrying  to  mount  their  horses.  A  score  of  them 
rode  across  the  valley,  to  a  point  just  below  us. 
By  signs  they  made  us  understand  that  we  must 
go  on  up  to  the  top,  and  they  would  go  around  by 


314     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

the  south,  and  so  up  the  bridle  road  that  wound 
around  by  the  south  and  west,  to  the  high  table 
land  above,  and  that  they  would  meet  us  there. 

After  the  first  shock  was  over,  we  contemplated 
the  difficult  climb  that  was  before  us,  with  eager- 
ness. John  said: 

"It's  going  to  be  great  sport!  People  climb 
mountains  just  for  the  fun  and  excitement  there  is 
in  it,  —  and  here  we  have  no  snow-clad  fields,  no 
glaciers  or  ice-bridges.  We  needn't  worry!" 

In  the  Knickerbocker  Magazine  there  had  lately 
been  accounts  of  how  people  had  climbed  the 
famous  peaks  of  the  Alps,  and  John  thought  he  knew 
what  was  proper  to  the  situation!  From  a  stubby 
tree  he  cut  two  crooked  sticks  for  "alpenstocks." 
He  tore  his  good  zerape  into  strips,  and  we  sat  down 
and  braided  them  into  a  rope,  which  we  tied  about 
his  waist  and  mine.  We  chattered  and  laughed  as 
if  it  were  a  frolic  —  though  deep  in  our  hearts  we 
realized  that  this  was  not  a  playful  excursion  that 
we  were  about  to  undertake. 

The  road  to  the  top  was  not  a  plain  and  easy  one, 
even  at  the  first.  There  was  the  steep  and  slippery 
track  of  the  avalanche  that  had  to  be  climbed  before 
we  could  get  anywhere.  We  climbed  that  place 
on  our  hands  and  knees.  Then  we  found  something 
like  a  track,  that  the  mountain-sheep  perhaps  had 


I  RIGHTFUL   PLACE    FOREVERMORE    315 

r 

travelled,  and  we  followed  it  as  it  grew  narrower  and 
narrower;  and  it  became  a  little  shelf  jutting  out  from 
a  high  smooth  wall,  —  the  chasm  that  yawned  below, 
we  did  not  dare  to  examine!  The  shelf  was  no 
broader  than  my  two  hands,  and  it  turned  sharp 
around  a  corner  so  we  could  not  see  what  lay  beyond. 
We  set  our  backs  to  the*  rock  wall  and  slid  our  feet 
along  sidewise,  —  and  turned  the  corner !  There  was 
a  little  strip  of  grassy  slope,  and  two  mountain-sheep 
with  their  little  ones,  grazing.  A  flash  of  whiteness, 
and  they  were  gone,  leaving  no  track  that  we  could 
follow. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  us,  at  first,  that  Alpine 
climbers  have  with  them  guides  who  know  the 
mountains  like  ABC,  while  we  knew  nothing  about 
this  place.  There  may  have  been  a  dozen  good 
paths  to  the  top,  but  we  did  not  find  them.  Every 
trail  we  tried  ended  nowhere,  —  either  in  an  abrupt 
precipice,  or  against  a  blank  wall. 

We  finally  made  our  way  around  to  the  northern 
side,  and  from  there  the  ascent  was  not  so  difficult; 
but  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  arrived  at 
a  point  only  a  dozen  feet  from  the  upper  edge  of 
the  plateau  —  and  found  we  could  get  ho  further ! 
There  was  a  straight-up  bank  of  clay  and  soft  shaly 
rock  between  us  and  the  level  top  of  the  cliff.  We 
did  not  give  up  in  despair,  however,  We  sat  down 


316     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  drew  a  long  breath,  —  and  we  both  thought 
of  the  same  thing  at  once!  We  could  dig  stair  steps 
in  the  clay !  We  had  two  knives,  but  it  was  severe 
work,  and  we  were  already  tired.  Twilight  was 
coming  on.  The  cold  wind  of  evening  chilled  us. 
As  we  got  higher,  only  one  could  work  to  advantage, 

—  so  I  helped  to  support  John's  weight,  as  he  cut 
the  shallow  niches  for  our  feet.     He  uncovered  a 
long  stout  fibrous  root,  like  a  rope,  to  hold  by,  and 
I  made  him  set  one  foot  on  my  shoulder  as  he 
worked.     I  was  too  dazed  and  weary  to  remember 
very  clearly  after  that.     I  felt  the  clods  falling  on 
me.     I  felt  the  pulling  of  the  rope  around  my  waist, 

—  and  I  remember  setting  my  feet  carefully  in  the 
steps  that  John  had  made,  —  the  clasp  of  his  hands 
on   mine,  —  the   breaking   and   crumbling    of    the 
earth   under  me  as  he  drew  me  up  —  at  last!  — 
beside  him! 

He  carried  me  to  a  place  where  the  grass  was 
soft  and  thick,  and  we  lay  down  there  and  slept,  I 
do  not  know  how  long.  We  awoke  with  a  scream, 
which  was  promptly  suppressed.  A  pistol  shot  had 
been  fired  —  a  rapid  succession  of  shots  —  only  a 
little  distance  from  us.  It  was  no  signal,  such  as 
our  friends  might  have  fired  —  there  was  deadly 
purpose  in  it! 

I  do  not  know  why  we  both  should  have  been  so 


RIGHTFUL   PLACE    FOREVERMORE    317 

sure  that  it  was  Arandez,  and  the  other  Mexicans, 
who  were  near  us.  We  lay  close  to  the  earth,  and 
held  our  breath  to  listen,  but  there  was  no  further 
sound,  only  after  a  long  time  we  did  hear  the  soft 
stepping  of  horses'  hoofs,  and  the  nipping  of  the 
grass  as  they  grazed.  There  were  two  horses,  and 
one  whinnied,  calling  to  the  other.  John  caught 
his  breath  audibly,  with  something  like  a  sob.  He 
seized  my  hands. 

"Deya!  listen!  I  know  it's  Barnaby!  I  know 
it!  And  Aguilita!" 

He  called  to  them,  with  the  secret  call  that  Kit 
Carson  had  taught  us,  —  and  our  ponies  knew  it 
well.  They  stopped  eating.  Again  he  called.  They 
came  toward  us,  —  found  us,  —  and  thrust  their 
soft  noses  into  our  hands! 

John  gave  me  their  bridle-reins  to  hold.     He  said: 

"Stay  here.  I'm  going  to  find  where  those  men 
are.  Give  me  Barnaby's  call  once  in  a  while,  so  I 
will  know  where  to  find  you  again." 

In  a  little  while  he  crept  back. 

"It  couldn't  be  better!  They  are  over  there  to 
the  northwest,  in  a  little  arroyo.  Yes,  it's  the 
Mexicans,  of  course,  only  Arandez  is  not  with  them. 
They  are  sleeping  by  their  fire  without  any  guard. 
We  can  get  away,  if  we  are  quiet  about  it  —  if  we 
have  luck!" 


318     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

But  I  could  not  mount  my  pony.  I  could  not 
help  myself  in  any  way!  John  lifted  me  into  the 
saddle,  a  big  high  Mexican  saddle;  and  then  I  could 
not  sit  upright,  but  John  tied  me  on  with  a  dozen 
turns  of  the  lazo-rope,  as  if  I  had  been  a  sack  of 
corn.  We  went  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  keeping 
the  horses'  heads  away  from  the  red  glare  that 
showed  where  the  Mexican  camp  was.  John  whis- 
pered that  he  thought  we  were  on  the  trail,  —  the 
beaten  track  that  would  take  us  down  the  mountain. 

We  had  traveled  for  many  minutes,  and  were 
well  below  the  level  of  the  mesa,  when  we  came  to  a 
dangerous  bit  of  road,  a  broken  rocky  path  with  a 
sheer  precipice  on  the  outer  side.  We  needed  the 
moon's  light,  —  and  just  then  the  clouds  rolled 
back,  and  the  trail  lay  before  us  as  plainly  visible 
as  if  it  were  day. 

We  thought  our  troubles  at  last  were  over.  I 
forgot  pain  and  weariness.  My  spirits  were  recover- 
ing their  tone, — my  body,  its  strength.  I  slipped  my 
right  hand  out  of  the  ropes  that  held  me,  and  tried 
to  free  my  body,  so  I  could  sit  properly  in  the 
saddle,  but  John  had  drawn  the  knots  too  tight  for 
that.  I  spoke  to  him,  and  he  dismounted  and  came 
to  my  side. 

And  there  was  Arandez,  there  in  the  path!  We 
saw  him  plainly  in  the  moonlight.  His  face  was 


RIGHTFUL    PLACE    FOREVERMORE    319 

blood-marked,  frightful  to  look  upon!  He  sprang 
on  Barnaby's  back,  and  seeing  John  he  rode  straight 
over  him;  —  but  he  never  guessed  that  the  dark 
bundle  lying  across  Aguilita's  saddle  was  a  living 
creature.  The  end  of  the  rope  that  bound  me  to 
Aguilita  John  had  carried  over  and  fastened  to  the 
horn  of  Barnaby's  saddle,  and  when  Barnaby  was 
forced  into  a  run  up  the  steep  road  by  the  half- 
crazy  Arandez,  Aguilita  had  to  follow.  John  was 
utterly  distraught!  Like  a  wild-cat  he  was  clinging 
to  Barnaby,  clawing  at  Arandez,  fighting  tooth  and 
nail  for  the  possession  of  his  horse,  and  screaming 
at  the  top  of  his  voice  for  help  —  though  he  knew 
there  was  no  one  near  to  come  to  our  aid. 

He  could  not  really  hurt  the  big  man.  There  was 
no  need  for  Arandez  to  use  his  gun,  to  rid  himself 
of  the  clinging  figure,  but  he  wickedly  drew  it,  and 
turned  it  upon  my  brother 

I  lived  a  year  in  that  half -second.  I  thought  of 
everything  that  ought  to  be  done,  —  and  deliber- 
ately did  it!  In  spite  of  my  cramped  position  I  got 
my  revolver  out  of  its  holster,  and  fired.  I,  who 
would  never  fire  at  a  living  target,  felt  no  horror 
at  the  idea  of  taking  a  human  life,  —  and  I  knew 
I  would  not  miss  this  creature!  There  was  a  cry,  a 
spasmodic  upward  leap,  a  sudden  collapse  of  the 
heavy  body.  But  it  takes  time  for  a  man  like  that 


320     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

to  die.  He  had  seen  the  flash  from  my  gun,  and  he 
spurred  Barnaby  against  Aguilita  to  crowd  her  over 
the  crumbling  brink! 

A  loud  report  of  guns,  from  down  the  road,  —  a 
rush  of  clattering  hoofs!  A  dozen  dark  mounted 
figures  coming  up  the  road!  Joe-Lu's  voice  scream- 
ing out  an  answer  to  John's  cries  for  help.  "Boy 
John !  Boy  John ! "  An  indistinct  dark  form  sprang 
past  me,  —  it  seized  upon  Arandez,  and  dragged 
him  from  the  saddle!  I  had  a  glimpse  of  glaring 
eyeballs,  —  of  a  terrible,  ghastly,  contorted  visage! 
I  heard  cries  and  oaths,  gurgling,  choking,  gasping 
sounds,  and  smothered  calls  for  help.  The  horses 
were  wild  with  terror.  Aguilita's  hoofs  were  crunch- 
ing the  stones  at  the  very  verge  of  the  cliff.  I  hung 
head  downward  over  the  abyss  —  below  me  was  a 
sea  of  white  mist,  with  the  tops  of  the  pine  trees 
showing  through,  and  that  was  all.  Then  across 
my  range  of  vision  there  plunged  a  dark  and  writhing 
mass.  There  was  no  merciful  unconsciousness  for 
me  —  I  knew  it  was  Arandez  with  Joe-Lu  clasped 
tight  in  his  arms !  —  and  with  them  went  Barnaby, 
down  through  space,  down 

Aguilita  and  I  would  have  followed  them,  —  I  had 
no  thought  but  that  it  would  be  so,  —  but  she  was 
suddenly  drawn  bodily  backward.  Big  Rob  was 
there,  and  he  had  thrown  himself  underneath  her, 


RIGHTFUL    PLACE    FOREVERMORE    321 

and  the  others  had  seized  her  by  mane  and  saddle 
and  trailing  rope!  She  fell,  but  it  was  upon  the 
roadway,  —  and  I,  bound  so  tightly  to  her,  fell 
with  her. 

Ernst  spoke  my  name !  He  lifted  and  held  me,  like 
a  child,  in  his  arms.  We  were  mounted  and  going 
slowly  down  the  long  trail  that  led  to  the  camp. 
I  looked  up  into  the  face  so  near  to  mine;  it  was 
transfigured  with  the  holiest  of  raptures,  yet  it  was 
white  and  drawn.  Heaven's  light  was  in  his  eyes, 
yet  they  were  wet  with  tears. 

I  was  not  sure  but  that  this  was  a  dream.  I 
lifted  my  hand,  and  my  arm  found  a  resting-place 
around  his  neck.  My  cheek  was  pressed  to  his 
breast,  —  and  then  I  knew  that  this  was  my  rightful 
place  forevermore. 

John  was  walking  by  my  side  to  help  support 
me,  and  he  and  the  others  talked  all  sorts  of  gay 
nonsense,  so  that  I  might  forget  what  had  happened; 
but  I  was  too  tired  to  remember  or  to  care. 

In  the  early  morning  light,  the  outlines  of  the 
wagons  were  hardly  to  be  distinguished,  when  we 
at  last  arrived  in  camp.  There  were  many  whis- 
pered questions  and  answers  —  and  then  I  found 
myself  in  bed.  John  made  it  ready  for  me.  I 
asked  for  Anna,  but  hardly  know  if  they  answered 
me  or  not,  and  yesterday  was  like  a  dream. 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

It  is  Monday  night  and  we  are  still  at  Santa 
Clara  Springs. 

I  am  not  used  to  staying  so  long  in  one  place.  I 
am  not  used  to  lying  in  bed,  and  it  makes  me  fretful 
and  restless.  No  one  seems  to  want  to  talk  with 
me  about  what  happened  on  Eagle  Mountain  — 
and  I  want  to  know.  But  when  the  others  were 
at  dinner,  big  Rob  sat  with  me,  and  he  answered 
everything  I  asked  him  —  about  Joe-Lu  and  the 
Mexicans,  and  the  Indians  at  Bent's  Fort,  and  the 
journey  of  the  relief  party  down  through  the  Raton 
Pass,  and  how  they  found  us,  and  all. 

He  said  that  the  Indians  around  Bent's  Fort 
had  learned  of  their  coming,  and  they  had  "evap- 
orated and  skedoodled"  before  ever  the  soldiers 
and  our  people  arrived  there. 

"We  left  the  supplies  wi'  auld  man  Bent,  an' 
came  at  a  good  gait,  doon  through  the  mountains, 
an'  there  was  nae  incident  exceptin'  that  we  met 
up  wi'  a  surveyin'  party,  wha  came  wi'  us  for  three 
days'  journey.  An'  your  mon,  Breunner,  he  made 
it  up  wi'  them  that  they  are  to  go  wi'  him  doon 
into  Mexico,  perhaps,  —  it's  no  all  settled  yet,  but 
that's  the  way  they  talked  it! 

"We  cam  along  at  the  fine  gait,  an'  doon  into  the 
camp  here  at  Santa  Clara,  an'  the  Captain  was 
a-sendin'  the  men  oot  after  you,  an'  we  were  no  to 


RIGHTFUL   PLACE   FOREVERMORE    323 

[ 

be  left  behind,  ye  understand!  It  were  a  sight,  to 
see  Joe-Lu  wi'  Franchy  an'  Auguste!  They  poonded 
each  ither  in  the  back,  an'  laughed,  an'  laughed, 
like  they  was  fey!  An'  Joe-Lu  goin'  wi'  a  hap-step- 
an'-loup,  like  I  never  saw  him  do  before!  We  nane 
o'  us  thocht  ye  was  in  no  danger,  ye  ken;  an'  so  we 
went  up  the  hill  —  an'  we  heard  yer  brither  cry 
oot!  Then  there  was  no  holdin'  Joe-Lu  —  weel,  ye 
ken  what  happened  after." 

He  went  on  to  tell  me  how  they  had  tried  to  get 
down  to  where  Joe-Lu  lay  upon  the  rocks,  but  there 
were  no  ropes  long  enough  to  reach  him.  While 
they  were  working  and  figuring  what  they  should 
do,  they  heard  the  rattle  of  loose  stones  in  the 
road  above  them,  and  secreted  themselves,  and 
were  just  in  time  to  surprise  Ignacio  and  the  other 
Mexicans. 

They  made  no  resistance.  Their  leader,  Arandez, 
being  gone,  they  submitted  stolidly  to  their  fate. 
They  hardly  answered  the  questions  that  were  put 
to  them  only  to  say, 

"Si,  si,  we  drink  —  we  quarrel  —  we  say  to 
Arandez,  'That  paper  ours  as  much  as  yours  — 
let  us  keep  the  map  little  part  of  the  time,  we  be 
all  brothers  and  partners.'  And  he  would  not,  —  he 
curse  and  jeer  at  us,  —  and  we  fire  upon  him!  So 
he  leave  us!  —  Down  there?  Let  him  lie  there! 


324      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Beast!     The  papers  of  the  mine  —  that  they  are 
lost  with  him!     That  is  thing  we  hate." 

They  were  strapped  to  their  horses'  backs  and 
sent,  with  a  guard,  down  to  the  prison  at  San 
Miguel,  sixty  miles  from  here. 

If  I  am  not  too  tired  I  want  to  write  about  my 
little  waiting-maid,  Marienella.  John  declared  that 
he  could  wait  on  me  till  we  should  get  to  Mora 
where  Anna  is,  or  while  I  needed  help,  but  the  Dea- 
con would  not  have  it  so.  He  sent  Rob  out  to  one 
of  the  ranch-houses  with  instructions  not  to  come 
back  without  some  girl  who  could  act  as  nurse  and 
companion  for  me.  The  Deacon  never  stopped  to 
think  that  of  all  the  men  in  camp  Rob  is  the  one  who 
has  cared  least  to  pick  up  anything  of  the  Spanish 
language.  Rob,  himself,  would  not  mention  it, 
for  he  flatters  himself  that  he  can  always  make 
himself  understood,  —  by  gestures  and  speaking 
very  loud!  So  Rob  undertook  the  errand. 

"I  went  up  to  the  hoose,  an'  there  peerin'  oot  the 
door  were  a  right  bonnie  lass,  an'  I  gaed  in  an'  askit 
her  to  come  wi'  me.  There  were  twenty  bairns  — 
or  maybe  not  quite  so  many  —  a-hangin'  round  the 
mither's  skirts,  but  the  ane  I  saw  at  the  door  were 
the  smartest  ane  amang  them  a',  an'  right  clean  an' 
decent  bodies  they  were. 


RIGHTFUL    PLACE    FOREVERMORE    325 

; 

"An5 1  made  signs  that  there  was  a  lady  sick  that 
needed  someone  wi'  her,  an'  I  told  them  I  was  to 
pay  twa  months '  wage,  —  that  is  what  the  Deacon 
bade  me  do.  They  was  lookin'  doubtfu',  till  I  put 
the  money  doon  on  the  table,  —  an'  then  ye  should 
ha'  seen  them  smile!  They  made  na  mair  hesitation, 
but  bundled  up  her  bit  claes,  an'  put  her  hand  in 
mine,  and  kissed  her.  Guid-hearted  folk  they  be, 
for  the  feyther  and  mither  they  kissed  me!  And  I 
told  them  ye  would  be  good  to  their  lass,  and  they 
waved  us  good-bye,  —  and  here  ye  see  us!" 

Pretty  good  for  Rob,  seeing  that  he  cannot  speak 
a  dozen  words  in  their  language. 

The  little  one  is  bright  and  gay,  and  saucy  as  a 
squirrel.  She  is  not  pretty,  but  is  good-natured 
and  deft,  and  she  seems  to  know  about  nursing. 
She  keeps  my  pillows  smooth,  and  turns  them  to 
cool  them,  and  fusses  over  me  —  just  enough,  and 
not  too  much. 

I  keep  thinking  about  Anna,  —  and  worrying. 
It  seems  so  strange  that  she  should  have  gone  to 
Moro. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
USE  FOR   THE  PATCHWORK  QUILT 

WE  are  in  the  little  Spanish  town  of  Moro, 
and  the  first  time  since  we  left  Westport 
we  are  under  a  roof,  in  the  inn.  They 
told  me  that  I  would  find  my  dearest  Anna  here. 

As  soon  as  my  eyes  rested  upon  Hiram  —  standing 
there  before  the  tavern  door  —  I  knew!  He  put  a 
trembling  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  I  whispered, 
"How  are  they?"  His  smile  was  all  the  answer 
I  needed! 

There  were  tears  upon  my  cheek,  —  like  a  child, 
I  was  abashed  and  afraid.  Hiram  opened  the  door, 
and  then  my  feet  were  swift  enough!  I  stood 
looking  down  upon  my  dearest,  loveliest  Anna,  — 
and  the  little  one  lying  upon  her  breast. 

A  pang  went  through  my  heart  —  it  was  a  thrill 
of  purest  joy,  but  so  sharp,  so  strong,  it  hurt  as  if  it 
were  pain!  I  sank  upon  my  knees,  and  buried  my 
face  in  the  warm  white  pillow,  and  the  baby  threw 
his  hands  about,  and  caught  them  in  my  hair,  and 
Anna  had  to  uncurl  the  little  fingers,  so  I  could  raise 
my  head  to  give  her  my  first  kiss,  and  she  would 


THE    PATCHWORK    QUILT        327 

not  have  it  —  the  first  kiss  had  to  be  for  the  baby. 
He  is  perfectly  lovely,  even  if  his  features  are 
not  developed  to  any  great  extent  as  yet,  —  such 
golden  glittering  silky  curls,  such  soft  and  dimpled 
flesh,  such  satiny  baby-roseleaf  skin  —  and  Anna 
says  his  eyes  are  going  to  be  blue!  He  would  not 
open  them  for  me  to  see,  though  he  was  not  asleep. 
I  told  Anna  I  loved  him  more  than  I  did  her,  and 
I  hadn't  known  him  a  half -hour! 

The  foster-mother  of  all  the  babies  that  have  been 
born  in  and  around  Moro,  for  thirty  years,  is  Tia 
Margarita.  She  is  a  crooked  and  stooped  old 
woman,  her  face  criss-crossed  with  wrinkles,  and  the 
wrinkles  filled  with  dirt,  but  she  handled  baby 
lovingly  and  daintily. 

"The  beautiful  Senora  not  know  much  about 
babies,  so  she  have  not  the  clothes  ready  for  him.  It 
is  no  matter!  There  be  plenty  clothes  in  the  vil- 
lage. Every  woman  have  the  one  fine  garment  for 
her  own  to  wear  to  church.  When  they  know  her 
need,  they  bring  to  her,  till  I  say,  '  Enough ! '  Such 
beautiful  clothes,  fit  for  child  of  the  Alcalde!  Si, 
si!  I  make  the  little  one  his  christening-robe.  Yes, 
I  show  it  you!  It  is  for  altar-cloth  I  embroider  it 
—  for  the  Padre  of  the  Chapel  at  San  Miguel.  But 
for  christening-robe  for  the  child  it  is  as  good;  — 
think  you  not  so?" 


328     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

As  she  laid  the  child  again  in  his  mother's  arms 
she  drew  smoothly  over  the  bed  Anna's  gay  patch- 
work quilt,  which  had  found  its  proper  use  at  last, 
—  to  brighten  the  poor  room  where  Anna's  baby 
was  born,  to  cover  the  mother  and  child! 

The  room  was  the  barest  ever  was  —  no  table,  no 
chair,  only  a  shelf  built  into  the  wall,  that  served  as 
a  bench;  and  the  bed  was  of  the  same  sort,  an  affair 
built  into  the  walls,  made  of  poles  covered  with 
stretched  raw-hide,  —  no  tick  and  feather-bed,  only 
robes  and  blankets  to  make  it  soft  and  comfortable. 

The  floor  was  of  hard  beaten  earth,  almost  like 
stone,  the  walls  of  'dobe  whitewashed  to  a  snowy 
whiteness.  Tia  Margarita  was  not  ashamed  of  the 
room — quite  the  contrary! 

"See  how  clean  the  Dona  Lucia  keep  it!  The 
window  on  the  street  —  do  you  see?  Few  houses 
have  window  like  that!  But  if  one  have  many 
daughters  to  marry  there  must  be  window  for  court- 
ing. Six  daughters  had  Dona  Lucia,  all  married, 
thanks  to  the  window!  Si,  si,  flowers,  and  sweeties, 
and  rings,  and  vows  of  love  have  passed  through 
these  bars!" 

She  looked  at  me  with  what  was  meant  to  be  an 
arch  and  roguish  smile. 

"And  if  the  pretty  Sefiorita  stay  here  but  three 
days,  I  promise  there  be  many  caballeros  to  'eat 


THE    PATCHWORK    QUILT        329 

the  iron'  —  that  is  how  we  say  —  to  look  up  at  the 
window,  with  the  longing  of  love  in  their  gaze. 
They  wait  for  hours  to  catch  one  glimpse  of  the 
face,  or  perhaps  a  rose  from  the  hand  of  the  loved 
one!  Ah,  yes,  I  have  a  tenderness  for  such!  I 
remember  the  days  of  my  youth!  —  La,  la!  I 
stay  and  talk,  and  the  Senorita  is  weary,  and  the 
Dona  Anna,  she  is  already  asleep!  Buenos  noches! 
I  leave  you  both  to  the  care  of  the  good  God, 
and  the  Virgin  Mary,  most  blessed,  and  the  holy 
saints ! ' 

Early  this  morning,  Wednesday,  Hiram  came  to 
the  tavern  to  take  Anna  down  to  the  camp.  Tia 
Margarita  seemed  to  think  it  quite  safe  for  her  to 
go  on  with  the  caravan. 

While  Hiram  was  waiting  in  Moro,  he  employed 
himself  in  making  a  hanging  bed  for  Anna,  so  she 
and  the  little  one  might  ride  as  comfortably  as 
possible. 

"So  much  trouble  that  baby  is  making  you!" 
So  I  say  to  Hiram,  and  he  agrees  with  me  that  "a 
baby  is  a  great  bother,"  yet  he  acts  as  if  he  were 
rather  proud  of  the  boy!  When  we  got  into  camp 
the  men  were  all  around  the  wagon,  and  he  wrapped 
the  child  up  in  the  gorgeous  quilt  and  let  them  take 
him  in  their  arms.  They  handled  him  ae  tenderly 


330     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

as  if  he  were  fragile  glass !  But  he  very  soon  showed 
them  he  was  real  flesh  and  blood,  for  after  he  had 
stared  at  them  long  enough,  he  began  to  kick  and 
squirm,  and  finally  he  cried,  loud  and  strong. 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  with  grins  of 
delight. 

"Now  ain't  that  the  real  boy  of  it?"  "He's  sure 
got  a  temper  of  his  own!"  "Shucks!  I  wouldn't 
give  a  picayune  for  a  boy  that  didn't  have  a  temper! " 
"Nor  I  wouldn't  neither.  I  wa'n't  a-sayin'  but 
what  I  thought  't  was  all  right!  No,  siree!  What 
I'm  a-sayin'  is,  that  that  there  baby  is  actin'  just  as 
a  healthy,  spunky  boy  baby  oughter  act!"  "Tell 
you,  fellers,  that  sounds  the  purtiest  of  anythin' 
I've  heerd  sence  I  left  oP  Missouri!  It  makes  me 
think  a  heap  'bout  home,  it  does  for  a  fac'!" 

Marienella's  feet  hardly  had  time  to  touch  the 
ground,  she  was  so  busy  with  the  thousand  and  one 
things  that  needed  to  be  done  for  the  child  and 
for  Anna  and  me. 

Marienella  is  used  to  caring  for  children,  for  her 
mother  has  nine  younger  than  she! 

"Surely  yes,  there  is  always  a  baby!  I  take 
care  of  it  while  my  mother  she  make  the  tortilla, 
and  plow  garden,  and  raise  chicken  for  to  sell  to 
the  caravan.  Por  cierto!  most  particular  it  is  to 
raise  chicken  —  they  die  most  easy !  But  the  babies, 


THE    PATCHWORK    QUILT        331 

I  tend  them  and  they  grow  like  the  flowers  —  so 
strong  —  so  pretty!" 

The  men  were  still  gathered  together  discussing 
the  new  arrival  in  camp,  when  Auguste  and  Franchy 
came  up  to  Hiram's  wagon.  They  evidently  had 
something  important  to  say.  They  hesitated,  and 
made  two  or  three  different  beginnings,  when 
Franchy  spoke  out,  abruptly,  hurriedly: 

"It  be  dis-a-way!  We  been  t'inkin',  Auguste  an' 
me,  'bout  Joe-Lu!  Nevair  was  no  boy  lak  'im, 
w'ite  lak  anybody,  inside,  nevair  lak  no  black  man, 
no  slave!  You  know  'bout  dat!  We  be  dat  glad 
to  see  'im,  w'en  we  come  back  from  Bent's  Fort, 
same  lak  'e  be  real  broder!  We  nevair  know  'ow 
much  we  t'ink  of  'im,  till  dat  time  w'en  we  be  away 
from  'im,  an'  den  we  pound  'im  on  de  back,  lak 
anyt'ing,  an'  we  tell  'im,  'You  goin'  be  rich,  an' 
famous,  too,  you  rascal  Joe-Lu!  You  goin'  to  go 
to  Paree!'  We  tell  'im,  'We  give  you  de  money, 
your  share  in  de  goods  we  sell,  so  you  go  'cross  de 
sea  to  France!' 

"We  plan  to  do  dat  fo'  'im,  an'  'e  dat  glad!  Den 
we  go  up  de  mountain  trail,  an'  t'ink  no  danger,  — 
an'  John  Randall  call  an'  'e  go  to  'im,  —  an'  wrastle 
wid  Arandez  —  an'  now  'e  be  gone !  Poor  Joe-Lu ! 
An'  it  be  lak  dis!  W7e  cain't  nevair  touch  dat 
money  dat  was  for  to  be  Joe-Lu's,  —  not  if  you  will 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

take  it  fo'  de  babee,  an'  maybe  name  de  babee  fo' 
Joe-Lu,  eh?  Das  w'at  we  want  know!  Not  de 
name  Joe-Lu  jus'  so,  but  Joseph  Louis,  eh?  Dat 
name  soun'  good,  an'  all  right,  maybe,  fo'  your  li'l 
boy?  So  dat  dey  be  someone  to  keep  de  memory 
—  so  de  name  not  die.  De  feedle  it  go  wid  de 
name,  —  an'  maybe  de  li'l  Joseph  Louis  'e  take  to 
dat  feedle,  learn  to  play  'im.  Dat  be  de  bes'  t'ing 
yet  eef  some  day  we  come  to  see  dat  beeg  boy,  an* 
'e  play  fo'  us!  Dat  be  fine,  eh,  Auguste?  More 
fine  as  anyt'ing  in  dis  worl'!  You  not  t'ink  dat  all 
foolish,  eh?" 

Hiram  looked  at  Anna.  There  was  no  doubt  of 
the  answer  they  would  give,  and  they  never  thought 
even  once  about  the  money,  I  am  sure!  Anna  said 
softly,  "Joseph  Louis,  —  and  we  could  call  him  just 
Louis  while  he  is  little,  couldn't  we?"  So  it  was 
decided.  And  then  with  Auguste  and  Franchy  and 
me  for  witnesses,  Deacon  Gentry  took  the  child 
in  his  arms,  and  touched  its  brow  with  water,  and 
gave  it  the  name  —  Joe-Lu's  name  —  Joseph  Louis 
Hubbard. 

And  the  beautiful  christening-robe,  made  from 
the  holy  altar-cloth!  We  never  thought  of  it  till 
long  after  the  ceremony  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
STAINED  WITH  A  BLOOD  STAIN 

ERNST  is  asking  me  to  go  with  him  when  he 
goes  down  into  Mexico,  and  that  means  that 
we  must  be  married  almost  at  once!     I  am 
not  ready  for  that.     I  ought  not  to  have  to  think 
of  marriage  so  soon  —  when  I  have  only  just  begun 
to  think  of  love! 

"Marriage,"  Uncle  Pliny  once  explained  to  me, 
when  he  was  talking  of  his  "darter  Loretty,"  "is 
a  mighty  serious  preposition,  best  way  you  take  it! 
Folks  is  borned  different,  and  raised  different,  and 
for  any  two  to  think  they  can  go  and  get  along 
together  all  their  days  without  some  strainin'  of 
their  tempers  an'  their  feelin's  —  why,  it  ain't  to 
be  did,  an'  that's  all  they  is  to  it!  The  woman  has 
to  give  up  a  lot  of  her  idees,  an'  the  man  has  to 
change  his  way  of  thinkin'  jest  as  much!  They's 
a  lot  fur  them  to  larn,  an'  more  fur  'em  to  unlarn, 
before  they  can  get  to  be  right  comfort'ble  together! 
That's  the  way  it  has  got  to  be  with  every  married 
pair,  I  reckon!" 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

If  that  is  what  marriage  means  one  surely  ought 
to  give  herself  time  to  think,  before  she  takes  the 
irrevocable  step. 

That  sounds  selfish  and  cold  and  unkind  —  and  I 
do  not  want  to  be  that,  when  it  is  Ernst  that  is 
concerned.  I  do  love  and  trust  him  unreservedly, 
and  I  know  what  my  answer  will  be.  If  he  thinks 
we  ought  to  be  married  at  once,  I  ought  not  to  wish 
to  say  no. 

At  noon  to-day  the  caravan  halted  on  the  bank 
of  a  little  mountain  stream  that  slipped  through  a 
green  meadow,  quiet  and  still,  so  narrow  we  could 
make  the  jump  from  bank  to  bank.  Shallow  and 
innocent  looking  it  was,  but  the  ice-cold  noiseless 
current  has  dragged  more  than  one  man  down  to 
death,  the  men  say.  Along  the  course  of  the  brook 
were  straggling  clumps  of  thin  willows,  and  near 
the  camp  was  a  group  of  young  mulberry  trees,  all 
thickly  canopied  with  the  wild-grape  vine,  forming 
a  natural  leafy  arbor.  I  was  swinging  in  a  hanging 
loop  of  the  knotted  branches,  and  John  and  the 
Deacon  were  discussing  the  trip  into  Mexico,  when 
John  suddenly  turned  to  me  and  said,  in  father's 
own  manner: 

"There  is  one  thing  that's  wrong,  Deya.  You 
ought  to  be  going  with  us,  and  you  could  if 


STAINED  WITH   A   BLOOD    STAIN    335 

you  would!  You  could  marry  Ernst,  and  then  you 
would  not  have  to  go  back  to  Illinois  alone,  without 
Anna  or  me.  That's  going  to  be  lonesome  for  you, 
and  I  don't  think  that  mother  would  like  it.  You'll 
be  going  one  way,  and  we  going  the  opposite,  and 
anything  might  happen  to  either  of  us  and  the 
other  one  wouldn't  know  anything  about  it.  There 
isn't  any  need  of  it!  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to 
marry  Ernst,  and  go  with  us.  I  know  he'd  be  more 
than  glad!" 

I  did  not  want  the  Deacon  to  hear.  I  did  not 
want  him,  or  any  stranger,  to  speak  of  this,  till 
Ernst  and  I  should  have  settled  it  between  us.  The 
Deacon  is  very  conveniently  deaf,  at  times,  but 
this  was  not  one  of  those  times,  and  he  interrupted 
John  without  apology. 

"Such  talk  is  foolish!  Young  people  are  getting 
more  and  more  heedless,  with  every  year  that  passes, 
•  it  seems  to  me.  Marriage  is  a  solemn  obligation,  — 
not  to  be  lightly  considered  or  entered  into  without 
due  preparation !  And  Deya  is  hardly  more  than  a 
child,  not  by  any  means  sedate  enough  to  take  upon 
herself  the  responsibilities  of  a  wife!  And  if  Ernst 
and  she  were  thinking  of  being  married,  I  doubt  if 
a  Protestant  marriage  could  be  properly  performed 
in  Santa  Fe.  And  in  any  case  Deya  should  be 
married  at  home,  in  her  own  church,  with  her 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

mother  and  sisters  with  her,  in  the  presence  of  her 
own  relatives  and  friends." 

These  were  some  of  the  things  I  had  been  saying 
to  myself,  but  now,  when  the  Deacon  said  them, 
they  someway  did  not  sound  so  convincing.  He 
spoke  with  an  air  of  finality,  as  if  he  had  settled  the 
question  for  good  and  all,  —  and  that  bad  little 
imp  of  perverseness  that  is  inside  of  me  began  to 
urge  me  to  take  a  contrary  view. 

I  wanted  time  to  think  it  all  over.  I  wanted  to 
be  alone.  I  would  not  let  even  John  go  with  me 
when  I  rode  out  across  the  marshy  meadow.  But 
the  ride  did  not  help  me  to  think.  It  only  tired  me, 
so  I  was  glad  to  turn  my  horse's  head  back  to  the 
camp.  But  I  did  not  ride  alone.  The  last  part  of 
the  way  I  was  attended  by  a  company  of  Mexican 
soldiers  who  had  ridden  up  from  San  Miguel  to 
make  inspection  of  our  goods. 

It  was  a  very  shabby  company;  the  men  were 
all  rags  and  tatters,  as  regards  the  upper  part  of 
their  bodies,  and  mostly  bare  skin  from  the  thighs 
down !  The  young  officer  in  command  —  a  Captain 
Paost  de  Brys  —  was  most  civil,  and  made  elaborate 
apologies  for  the  bad  appearance  of  his  troop. 

"They  are  good  fellows,  the  very  devils  in  a  fight, 
but  our  government  treats  them  most  shabbily, 
as  you  see  —  to  leave  them  half -clothed  so,  —  it  is 


STAINED  WITH   A   BLOOD   STAIN    337 

a  shame!  And  the  weapons,  even,  are  what  they 
have  taken  from  the  thieves  and  desperadoes  with 
whom  they  have  fought!" 

As  I  was  proceeding  in  leisurely  fashion  to  our 
part  of  the  camp,  I  heard  Captain  de  Brys  explain- 
ing to  Captain  Harrod  that  it  was  not  ordinarily 
the  duty  of  the  soldiery  to  make  inspection  for 
the  customs  department;  but  that  everything  is  at 
"sixes  and  sevens"  in  Santa  Fe,  because  of  the 
serious  illness  of  the  Gobernador,  and  that  he  should 
perform  this  duty  was  a  personal  request  from  his 
uncle  the  Chief  of  Customs,  the  Sefior  Don  Fran- 
cisco de  Velasco,  "a  noble  of  the  old  blood  of  Spain, 
and  a  man  of  the  most  honorable!" 

De  Brys  explained  to  Captain  Harrod  about 
the  tribute  that  would  be  exacted  of  us  by  the 
officials  of  the  towns  through  which  the  caravan 
will  pass. 

"Yes,  there  is  money  that  must  be  scattered  with 
a  liberal  hand.  It  is,  to  speak  in  plain  terms, 
bribe-money,  no  less.  Yet  it  is  the  custom  in  this, 
our  unfortunate  country,  a  custom  that  must  be 
followed  if  one  wishes  to  do  business  with  our 
people.  The  underlings  in  the  offices  at  Santa  Fe 
would  not  think  they  could  put  the  scratch  of  pen 
to  paper  unless  their  itching  fingers  were  salved 
with  your  gold;  and  not  only  that,  but  every  petty 


338     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

official  in  every  little  village  will  expect  to  be 
substantially  remembered.  If  your  donation  is 
satisfactory  they  will  be  anxious  to  give  you  of  their 
services,  but  if  not,  they  will  hinder  and  cause  you 
trouble  at  every  turn.  Accident  after  accident, 
and  no  one  upon  whom  to  fix  the  blame!  A  de- 
plorable condition!  Yes,  but  so  it  has  been  with 
us  these  many  years!" 

He  went  on  to  say  that  no  portion  of  this  money 
would  be  received  'by  the  Chief  of  Customs,  the 
Sefior  de  Velasco.  Oh,  no ! 

"It  is  for  those  of  another  sort  —  for  those  who 
must  live  on  insufficient  salaries!  They  are  not  so 
much  to  blame,  for  if  they  receive  not  these  donations 
they  starve!  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  satisfactory 
to  you  if  two  of  your  own  men  should  go  with  us, 
and  themselves  see  to  it  that  the  gold  is  distributed 
as  I  say." 

I  did  not  stay  to  listen  any  further,  but  rode  across 
to  the  grape-vine  arbor,  for  I  was  wearied,  and 
anxious  about  other  things.  I  stood  by  Aguilita's 
side,  and  idly  enough  I  passed  my  hands  over  the 
saddle  bags.  There  was  a  sound  of  broken  glass, 
clink,  clink,  that  aroused  my  curiosity.  Cautiously 
I  thrust  my  hand  into  the  deep  leather  pocket.  I 
found  in  it  a  broken  liquor-flask,  tobacco,  and  a 
purse  that  held  a  few  Mexican  gold-pieces.  Then 


STAINED  WITH   A    BLOOD    STAIN    339 

I  thought,  all  at  once,  what  saddle  this  was.  It  was 
the  one  that  had  been  on  Aguilita  when  we  came 
down  from  Eagle  Mountain.  It  was  Arandez's 
saddle!  I  was  strangely  excited.  I  felt  that  there 
was  some  other  discovery  waiting  for  me.  In  the 
very  bottom  of  the  bag  was  something  soft  and 
silkily  slimy  —  something  that  crackled.  I  drew 
out  a  package,  stained  with  a  brown  stain,  a  package 
done  up  in  a  dirty  wisp  of  silk!  This  must  be  the 
package  of  which  Jose-Marie  had  spoken  —  I  was 
sure  of  it!  —  the  package  which  that  old  Mexican 
Senor,  the  one  who  was  stabbed  in  Westport,  had 
worn  about  his  waist! 

I  opened  it  —  documents  stained  and  yellow  with 
age !  Yes !  A  map  showing  a  lake  with  four  rivers 
flowing  into  it,  and  a  red  cross,  marking  the  entrance 
to  the  "Glorieta"  mine! 

I  stared  at  the  old  papers  dumbly!  The  thought 
flashed  into  my  mind,  "If  no  one  has  a  better 
right  why  shouldn't  this  treasure  be  mine?"  But  it 
left  me  quicker  than  it  had  come,  —  and  left  me 
sick  with  repulsion!  Crime-stained,  blood-stained! 
I  would  have  naught  to  do  with  it!  The  sooner  it 
was  out  of  my  hands  the  better!  I  wrapped  it 
again  in  its  ragged  covering,  and  hid  it  in  the  folds 
of  my  skirt,  when  I  heard  someone  coming.  It  was 
only  John,  —  and  I  told  him  what  I  had  found,  and 


340     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

we  agreed  that  we  would  put  the  package  in  Captain 
Harrod's  hands  at  once. 

We  found  him  talking  with  the  young  Capitan 
Paost  de  Brys;  but  I  told  him  there  was  something 
of  importance  that  he  ought  to  know,  and  I  tried  to 
explain  about  the  map  and  the  letters  that  were 
with  it.  I  suppose  he  thought  it  was  a  foolish 
girl's  foolish  story,  —  until  I  gave  him  the  package, 
when  he  unwrapped  it,  and  saw  for  himself  the 
documents  it  contained. 

Besides  the  map  there  were  other  papers,  copies 
of  formal  deeds  and  letters,  written  in  the  ancient 
Latin  characters.  He  called  to  Ernst  to  aid  him  in 
translating,  and  together  they  went  over  them  line 
by  line. 

They  were  both  satisfied  that  there  could  be  no 
doubt  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the  old  parchments 
—  no  doubt  as  to  their  value.  And  a  conversation 
they  had  with  Paost  de  Brys  convinced  them  that 
there  was  a  living  heir  to  the  property  —  that  same 
Seiior  Don  Francisco  de  Velasco  of  whom  he  had 
previously  spoken.  And  this  Don  Francisco  de 
Velasco  is  brother  to  that  old  man  who  had  come 
to  his  death  at  the  hands  of  Arandez  and  his  com- 
panions in  Westport. 

The  subordinate  officers  were  left  to  complete 
the  inspection  of  our  goods;  but  Captain  de  Brys 


STAINED  WITH   A   BLOOD    STAIN    341 

turned  and  rode  back  swift  as  his  horse  could  carry 
him  to  Santa  Fe,  to  communicate  the  astonish- 
ing news  to  the  old  Spanish  aristocrat,  the  Senor 
de  Velasco!  I  suppose  he  has  a  wife  and  family, 
and  that  they  will  rejoice  over  the  fortune  that  will 
be  theirs  —  a  fortune  beyond  imagining,  if  the 
accounts  of  the  past  production  of  the  mine  are  to 
be  believed.  And  they  will  not  have  heard  Jose- 
Marie's  horrible  story  —  but  as  for  me,  I  am  glad 
to  put  the  whole  subject  out  of  my  mind! 

Marienella  was  doing  our  little  washing,  quite  as 
if  she  were  at  home  in  her  mother's  house;  and  I 
sat  on  an  upturned  tub  and  starched  and  patted, 
and  patted  and  starched  our  aprons  and  dresses, 
while  she  hung  out  the  plain  things  on  the  line. 
And  when  everything  was  done,  she  came  and  sat 
by  me,  and  she  looked  at  me  shyly,  and  twisted  her 
fingers  in  the  ruffles  of  my  gown. 

"There  is  something  I  think  I  want  to  tell  you, l 
very  funny,  —  so  it  will  make  you  laugh,  —  because 
I  be  so  silly,   and  not  know,  —  something  about 
—  I  know  not  if  I  can  tell  you!     I  not  tell  Rob,  — 
not  never!" 

I  thought  I  knew  her  little  secret!  She  has  been 
teaching  Rob  to  speak  her  language,  and  a  very 
amusing  study  the  romantic  Spanish  language  can 


342      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

be  under  certain  circumstances,  when  the  teacher 
is  so  lively  and  eager  and  earnest,  and  the  pupil  so 
purposely  slow  and  stupid !  They  have  been  fathoms 
deep  in  love  with  each  other,  ever  since  they  first 
saw  each  other  —  of  that  I  was  sure!  —  but  I  did 
not  guess  what  it  was  she  wanted  to  tell  me ! 

"Rob  he  say  we  be  married  —  soon!  Yes,  before 
we  come  to  Santa  Fe!  So  when  we  go  into  that  city 
where  sister  of  my  father  live,  my  Rob  and  me, 
we  be  'sposo  and  'sposa — husband  and  wife.  Those 
the  most  sweetest  words  in  the  world,  is  it  not  so? 
Yes,  and  there  be  something  else  —  only  it  be  such 
shame  to  me!  You  will  never  say  it  to  my  Rob, 
for  I  would  not  he  should  know  of  the  foolishness 
of  me !  It  is  —  that  I  do  not  know  Americano 
custom  of  marriage,  how  Americano  call  them- 
selves marry!  I  confess  before  you,  I  think  Rob 
same  as  marry  me,  when  he  only  ask  me  go  to  be 
maid  to  you!  Yes,  I  not  know  any  better!  My 
father,  and  my  mother,  and  my  sisters,  they  think 
so  too!  Surely!  In  this  country  the  people  not 
rich,  and  often  they  not  afford  to  be  priest-married. 
That  cost,  and  money  is  not!  Afterward,  long 
time  afterward,  when  they  save  what  is  required, 
they  get  marry  by  Padre,  and  make  great  big 
party!  It  nice  to  be  marry  like  that,  when  they 
can  afford  it,  but  it  happens  not  so,  not  at  first. 


STAINED  WITH  A  BLOOD  STAIN 

They  must  marry  more  cheap.  So  man  he  give 
little  money  to  father  and  mother.  They  put 
daughter's  hand  in  his,  and  give  to  both  of  them 
the  kiss  of  blessing !  Then  they  be  just  like  married ! 
Everyone  know  that! 

"That  day  when  Americano  come  to  our  house  — 
choose  me  out  from  the  others  —  put  the  money 
on  the  table  —  and  motion  many  motions,  and  talk 
all  time  loud  and  louder  —  we  not  know  what  he 
say,  we  think  it  declamation  to  marry !  I  proud  he 
choose  me,  he  so  big,  so  strong,  look  so  nice,  I  not 
think  anything  but  to  say  yes!  My  mother  very 
proud,  too!  They  tell  everyone  I  am  wife  of  rich 
Americano  I 

"When  I  see  what  mistake  it  is,  I  cry  mucho, 
mucho!  But  I  laugh  pretty  soon  —  I  know  it  be 
all  right!  First  Mexicano  word  Rob  learn  to  say 
is,  'I  want  you  for  wife!'  Is  it  not  most  wonderful, 
—  most  beautiful?  I  would  not  have  my  father's,' 
sister,  my  aunt,  in  Santa  Fe,  to  know  of  mistake  my 
mother  think,  and  me!  No!  so  we  be  really  marry 
with  ring,  —  husband  and  wife  —  before  ever  they 
see  us,  and  they  never  know.  I  show  them  that 
ring  —  and  some  day  I  show  my  mother  that  ring, 
too!  She  almost  die  with  pride  and  joy! 

"And  this  also  I  wish  to  ask  you.  Sometime 
when  we  go  back  to  Westport,  where  Rob's  Aunt 


344      PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Jeannie  lives,  will  she  be  glad  and  proud  for  that 
we  marry,  —  will  she  think  me  nice  wife  for  her 
nephew,  the  Senor  Don  Rob  MacLeod?" 

I  put  my  arms  around  her  and  told  her  what  I 
am  sure  is  perfectly  true  —  that  everyone,  when 
they  see  her  and  come  to  know  her,  will  be  pleased, 
and  that  Aunt  Jeannie  will  love  her  dearly. 

Her  cheeks  blushed  red  as  a  poppy,  and  she 
laughed  delightedly,  and  darted  off  to  be  with  her 
Rob.  Later  I  saw  her  perched  on  the  back  of  one 
of  the  oxen  he  was  driving,  and  I  could  only  suppose 
that  she  was  hearing  him  say  his  lesson  —  "I  love 
—  You  love  —  We  love!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
A   TRUE-LOVE  KISS 

I  THOUGHT  that  things  in  camp  were  unusually 
and  superlatively  quiet.  There  is  always  a 
reason  for  everything,  and  the  reason  for  this 
state  of  affairs  is  that  Danny  is  no  longer  with 
us.  He  and  Stoneman  have  been  sent  on  ahead 
to  Santa  Fe  with  Captain  de  Brys.  In  going 
through  Las  Vegas  they  must  have  stopped  long 
enough  to  give  a  very  good  impression  of  the 
caravan,  —  or  possibly  Danny  and  Stoneman,  who 
were  deputized  to  be  the  distributors  of  our  lar- 
gesse, were  particularly  generous  in  their  gifts  to 
the  Alcalde  and  Padre.  Whatever  the  cause,  the 
officials  made  high  festival  of  our  arrival  in  Las 
Vegas.  A  salute  was  fired  from  guns  on  the  church 
walls.  The  streets  were  jammed  with  people  of 
the  lower  class;  the  roofs  crowded  with  caballeros 
and  ladies,  who  threw  flowers  and  confetti  in  our 
path;  and  everywhere  everyone  was  shouting  "Los 
Americanos!  Los  Americanos!  La  entrada  de  la 
Caravana!" 


346     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Mexicans,  mestizos,  and  Indians  swarmed  about 
us,  offering  us  everything  conceivable  in  the  way  of 
eatables  and  drinkables,  —  water  cool  as  the  snows 
of  Mount  Mofa,  melons  and  apricots,  onions  and 
beans,  frijoles  and  chili  con  carne.  We  kept  on  pur- 
chasing long  after  we  were  supplied  with  what  we 
needed,  it  seemed  so  impossible  to  refuse  them! 

A  brood  of  half -naked  little  brown  rascals  dashed 
at  the  carriage  and  fairly  overwhelmed  us.  We 
held  our  breath,  we  were  so  sure  they  would  be 
caught  under  the  wheels  and  crushed,  but  they 
feared  nothing.  They  climbed  up  the  legs  of  the 
mules,  they  gathered  like  swarms  of  bees  on  the 
sides  of  the  carriage,  and  filled  it  to  overflowing. 
Only  Marienella  knew  how  to  rid  us  of  them! 
Unceremoniously  she  tumbled  them  out  on  the  hard 
ground,  and  when  they  clung  to  the  bows  she 
"smacked"  their  bare  legs  till  they  were  glad  to 
let  go.  We  threw  some  pennies  out  and  they 
scrambled  for  them  in  the  dirt,  and  put  them,  dirt 
and  all,  into  their  mouths,  and  then  ran  off  shrieking 
and  laughing. 

The  women  must  have  heard  about  the  beautiful 
Americano  baby  in  our  carriage,  for  they  crowded 
around,  begging  to  see  "un  bonito  nino,  the  sweet 
baby!"  Anna  stood  up  in  the  carriage  and  held 
up  the  boy,  that  they  might  gaze  upon  him.  I 


A    TRUE-LOVE    KISS  347 

know  that  never  in  their  lives  had  they  gazed  upon 
so  lovely  a  picture.  The  sun  shone  full  upon  her, 
making  her  dazzling  fairness  seem  yet  more  fair, 
and  the  baby's  locks  and  her  own  bright  tresses 
caught  the  sun's  rays  and  shone  like  spun  gold! 
With  her  blue  veil  blowing  about  her,  and  the  glory 
of  the  sun  upon  her,  she  did  look  like  the  holy 
pictures  of  the  saints  in  church  and  chapel,  before 
which  these  women  had  been  accustomed  to  kneel 
in  prayer. 

As  soon  as  we  were  fairly  settled  in  camp  a  deputa- 
tion of  the  principal  citizens  called  upon  us.  They 
were  most  polite  and  courteous,  assuring  us  that  all 
the  town  and  all  the  people  in  it  were  entirely  at 
our  service.  A  poor  trifle  in  the  way  of  entertain- 
ment had  been  provided  —  a  fandango  at  the  dance- 
hall,  a  theatrical  performance  in  the  Plaza,  —  the 
citizens  would  receive  as  an  evidence  of  friendly 
feeling  if  we  would  so  far  honor  them  as  to  attend 
these  festivities.  ^ 

Farrell  and  John  and  Ernst  and  I  are  going  to- 
gether. I  would  not  think  of  dancing,  but  after 
they  have  made  preparation  for  us,  it  would  seem 
uncivil  if  we  absented  ourselves.  Farrell  says  he 
will  wear  his  dress  suit  and  his  lemon-colored  kid 
gloves!  I  suppose  I  ought  to  array  myself  in  my 


348     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

one  real  party  gown,  the  red  plaid  silk  with  which 
sister  Lucy  so  thoughtfully  provided  me. 

I  did  not  wear  the  silk  gown  after  all,  but  only 
my  pink  sprigged  lawn,  which  Anna  said  was  quite 
pretty  enough  for  the  occasion. 

It  was  not  yet  dark  when  the  people  began  to 
assemble  at  the  dance-hall.  The  church-bells  were 
rung  to  call  the  crowd  together.  The  hall  was  a 
dirty,  low-ceilinged  room,  lighted  with  torches  as 
well  as  candles.  When  we  arrived  the  air  was  filled 
with  a  haze  of  flying  dust  —  and  with  the  odors  of 
onions  and  peppers,  and  other  odors  not  so  whole- 
some! Everything  was  dirty  as  possible  —  walls 
and  floor  —  and  even  the  people  in  their  fiesta  attire 
were  not  clean!  But  the  music  was  enchanting! 

The  sweet  thrumming  of  the  guitars,  the  low,  rich 
notes  of  the  violas,  the  soaring,  vibrant  tones  of  the 
violins,  —  it  was  all  so  captivating  to  the  senses, 
we  were  ready  to  declare  the  whole  scene  as  lovely 
as  it  was  bizarre  and  strange. 

There  were  people  of  every  class  present,  chatting 
familiarly  together:  the  Alcalde  and  the  ladies  of 
his  family,  the  Cure  and  the  Padre,  and  their 
nieces,  caballeros  in  velvet  and  lace,  saucy,  ragged 
Mexican  beauties,  and  vagabondish  youths  in  tawdry 
finery.  Coquettish  glances  and  bewildering  smiles, 


A    TRUE-LOVE    KISS  349 

like  winged  darts,  flew  recklessly  in  every  direction, 
glances  and  smiles  meant  not  for  any  particular  one, 
but  for  any  who  might  chance  to  be  in  the  way  of 
them. 

In  the  intervals  between  the  dances  the  girls, 
panting  from  the  rapid  motion,  flushed  from  the 
intoxication  of  the  music,  sat  on  the  benches  ranged 
around  the  room,  laughing  and  chattering  and 
gesticulating;  eating  and  drinking  everything  offered 
them  by  their  solicitous  swains.  Generously  they 
shared  their  cakes  and  sugar-sticks  with  each  other. 
For  convenience'  sake  these  dainties  were  carried 
about  in  their  handkerchiefs,  but  not  one  refused 
them  on  that  account.  Custom  makes  almost  any- 
thing seem  right  and  proper. 

We  had  not  purposed  to  stay  long  at  the  dance- 
hall,  and  as  soon  as  we  could  slip  away  from  those 
in  charge  we  did  so.  The  musicians  had  been 
playing  a  gay  "Rigadoon,"  but  when  we  were  well 
out  in  the  middle  of  the  room  they  changed  all  at 
once  into  the  slow,  langorous  measures  of  Strauss's 
"Lorelei."  Ernst's  arm  supported  me,  and  we  were 
swept  along  with  the  throng  of  the  dancers  in  the 
delicious  waltz.  We  went  twice  around  the  room. 
Then  the  players  gradually  increased  the  tempo. 
The  waltz  was  degenerating  into  a  giddy  whirl,  and 
Ernst  would  not  let  me  dance  any  longer. 


350     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

When  we  reached  the  door  of  the  hall  we  missed 
Farrell  Montgomery.  A  red-cheeked  Senorita  had 
captured  him.  He  was  following  us,  and  was  about 
to  step  out  into  the  court-yard,  when  the  pretty 
maiden  slipped  and  fell  at  his  feet.  Of  course  he 
had  to  lift  her  up!  And  he  had  to  go  and  get  for 
her  a  cup  of  sweet  wine!  And  he  had  to  take  her 
to  her  mother!  And  then  he  must  ask  her  to  dance 
when  she  felt  that  she  had  fully  recovered  from  the 
effect  of  the  accident.  If  Twank  had  not  appeared 
upon  the  scene  and  taken  the  little  lady  off  his 
hands,  Farrell  might  have  had  to  stay  till  the  dance 
was  over  —  perhaps  a  not  unwilling  captive.  As 
it  was,  the  Senorita  of  the  rosy  cheeks  took  and  kept 
one  of  his  lemon-colored  gloves  —  to  remember  "  the 
so  happy  occasion!" 

Three  Spanish  youths  in  picturesque  attire  were 
waiting  to  show  us  the  way  to  the  Plaza,  where  the 
theatrical  performance  was  to  be  given.  We  were 
surprised  to  find  that  it  was  to  be  literally  and 
exactly  in  the  Plaza!  There  was  no  opera-house. 
There  was  no  theater  building.  The  only  stage 
was  the  porch  in  front  of  the  tavern.  The  pit,  the 
dress-circle,  the  balcony  and  the  gallery,  all  were 
on  the  same  level,  and  that  was  the  level  of  the 
pavement.  The  audience  were  seated  on  the  ground 
—  senores,  senoras,  muchachos,  muchachitas,  tod- 


A    TRUE-LOVE    KISS  351 

dling  babies,  pet  dogs,  stray  goats,  and  sleepy 
pigs! 

The  "boxes"  reserved  for  us  as  the  guests  of 
honor  were  only  benches  covered  with  tapestries 
and  rugs.  Instead  of  footlights  and  big  chandelier, 
there  were  torches  placed  on  each  side  of  the  stage. 

The  stage  manager  must  have  been  waiting  our 
arrival,  for  as  soon  as  we  were  seated  the  bugle 
blew  a  long  note  and  the  heavy  curtains  were  drawn 
back.  Two  toreadors,  from  Spain,  went  through 
the  evolutions  of  the  bull-fight,  but  with  wholly 
imaginary  bulls  as  their  victims. 

The  stage  had  no  charms  for  me;  I  was  too  much 
engaged  in  watching  the  people  around  me.  Never 
before  had  I  seen  an  assemblage  like  this.  Ernst's 
eyes  met  mine  with  a  smile,  as  together  we  noted 
the  rapt  absorption  of  the  people  in  the  doings  on 
,  the  stage  —  their  unconsciously  uttered  exclama- 
tions, their  sympathetic,  responsive  gestures.  An 
enthusiasm  so  genuine  is  contagious,  and  I  was 
preparing  to  enjoy  the  mimic  bull-fight  with  them, 
when  I  noticed  Iggy  Beauchemie  making  his  way 
through  the  crowd  to  us,  trying  by  signs  to  make 
Ernst  understand  that  he  was  wanted.  The  sur- 
veyors, whom  Ernst  met  up  in  the  Raton  mountains, 
had  just  arrived  in  camp,  and  they  had  asked  that 
Ernst  be  sent  for  at  once  as  they  were  in  haste  to  go 


352     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

on  to  Santa  Fe.  Ernst  made  excuses  to  the  Alcalde, 
and  followed  Beauchemie  out  of  the  Plaza,  and  only 
Enos  Quackenbos  and  John  were  left  to  look  after 
Deya. 

I  wished  that  I  might  have  left  the  theater  with 
Ernst.  I  was  really  weary.  The  wind  that  swept 
through  the  Plaza  was  sharp  and  cool,  and  I  shiv- 
ered as  I  drew  my  shawl  closer  around  me.  I 
thought  regretfully  of  the  big  campfire,  and  wished 
I  were  there,  curled  up  at  Anna's  feet,  with  nothing 
to  do  but  watch  the  bright  flames. 

I  was  startled  by  the  clashing  of  the  heavy  rings 
as  the  curtains  were  again  drawn  back.  The  drama, 
"Dolores,"  the  main  performance  of  the  evening, 
was  about  to  begin.  I  did  not  expect  to  be  greatly 
interested,  but  my  attention  was  caught  and  held 
from  the  very  first.  Someway  it  seemed  not  at  all 
like  acting.  The  little  actress  who  played  the  part 
of  Dolores  was  truly  a  person  of  genius.  When  the 
curtains  were  drawn  aside  we  saw  her,  —  a  little 
ragged  girl  playing  with  the  children  of  the  street. 
She  was  capricious,  tantalizingly  sweet  and  be- 
witching, and  naughty!  She  wanted  to  be  so!  It 
was  such  fun  to  tease  the  poor  water-carrier  who 
loved  her  so  humbly  and  so  devotedly!  She 
laughed  at  him!  She  made  him  believe  such  a 
very  foolish  story  —  she  wrote  him  a  note  saying 


A    TRUE-LOVE    KISS  353 

that  she  had  been  carried  off  by  the  brigands  of  the 
mountains,  by  Massaroni  and  his  band  —  who  had 
not  been  seen  in  their  old  haunts  for  years!  He 
thought  it  was  true,  and  she  wickedly  laughed  at 
his  simplicity.  From  her  hiding-place  she  watched 
him  follow  the  trail  she  had  marked  out  for  him, 
to  Massaroni's  secret  cave.  Oh,  indeed  it  was  most 
amusing  to  fool  the  poor  boy!  Then  she  learns 
that  the  brigands  have  really  returned,  —  and  she 
realizes  that  she  has  sent  her  Sanchez  into  the  very 
den  of  the  thieves.  His  life  will  pay  the  forfeit  of 
her  folly!  They  will  think  him  a  spy.  They  will 
surely  kill  him ! 

A  storm  of  passion  overwhelmed  her.  In  the 
agony  of  that  moment  she  became  a  woman,  a 
woman  who  loved  deeply  and  truly.  She  resolves 
to  follow  the  path  she  had  marked  out  for  her  lover. 
She  will  save  him,  or  die  with  him!  He  must  not 
die  till  she  has  told  him  that  she  loves  him  —  has 
always  loved  him! 

Her  dark  eyes,  lustrous,  magnificent,  fiery,  swept 
across  the  sea  of  faces  in  the  Plaza:  they  flashed  a 
single  piercing  beam  into  my  own  eyes,  into  my 
very  heart,  and  from  that  moment  I  was  no  more 
myself  —  I  was  that  Dolores! 

Her  face,  now  irradiated  with  hope,  now  darkened 
by  despair,  is  turned  to  the  mountain.  The  way 


354     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

is  rough  that  she  must  travel.  The  rocks  are  high 
and  threatening  where  she  must  pass.  She  stum- 
bles through  tangled  thickets.  She  loses  herself 
in  interminable  forests.  What  is  this?  "A  scarf 
that  Sanchez  has  worn!"  Yet  he  is  not  here!  She 
is  always  —  and  always  —  just  one  little  minute 
too  late!  I  forget  that  all  this  is  not  really  true, 
I  forget  that  this  is  a  stage  picture.  Dolores  is 
myself,  it  is  my  heart  that  is  wrung  with  anguish, 
and  fear,  and  sense  of  utter  loss!  I  cannot  bear 
it,  and  I  turn  away  my  face  that  I  may  not  see  the 
tragedy  that  I  feel  is  impending. 

There  is  a  rapturous  cry,  a  cry  of  joy!  She  sees 
her  beloved!  He  is  yet  alive,  though  in  the  hands 
of  the  brigands.  Ah!  it  is  Massaroni  who  first 
beholds  her.  He  stabs  Sanchez  to  the  heart,  and 
flings  him  upon  the  stones.  She  is  there  to  receive 
him,  to  cradle  him  in  her  arms,  to  weep  over  him,  to 
kiss  his  pale  brow. 

The  torches  that  had  lighted  the  stage  flared  in 
the  strong  night-wind,  flickered,  and  went  out. 
Only  the  moon's  pale  beams  fall  upon  her,  as  she 
kneels  by  the  side  of  her  beloved. 

"Sanchez!  Sanchez!  I  am  here!  Your  own 
Dolores!  Dost  thou  not  hear  me  when  I  say  I 
love  thee?  I  love  thee,  O  my  love!  forever  and 
forever!  In  life,  in  death,  I  love  thee!  Thou 


A    TRUE-LOVE    KISS  355 

hearest  me  not!  Thy  lips  have  no  kisses  of  love  and 
forgiveness  for  me !  I  hold  thee  to  my  heart  — 
but  never,  oh,  never,  wilt  thine  arms  enfold  me  in 
love's  embrace!  Thou  dost  not  know!  Thou  wilt 
never  know!  Yet  I  will  join  thee,  where  thou  art, 
my  dear  one!  Tarry  only  one  moment,  till  I  make 
my  peace  with  God!  Then  I  will  go  with  thee  — 
to  be  with  thee,  forever!" 

The  moon  shone  upon  her  uplifted  face.  She 
signed  herself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross.  Lovingly 
and  tenderly  and  slowly  she  withdrew  the  dagger 
from  his  yet  warm  heart  —  and  suddenly,  swiftly, 
she  drove  it  to  the  hilt  in  her  own  breast! 

Oh,  even  now  I  cannot  think  of  it!  It  is  not 
right  to  think  of  such  things,  and  it  was  not  true. 
It  was  not  true  —  though  it  seemed  like  truth.  The 
world  of  tragedy  and  pain  and  loss  is  not  the  real 
world.  The  real  world,  thank  God !  is  a  happy  world ! 
And  my  love  is  mine,  —  only  waiting  for  me  to  give 
my  heart  into  his  keeping!  So  I  said,  over  and 
over  again  to  myself,  as  John  and  I  made  our  way 
back  through  the  silent  crowd,  through  the  silent 
streets,  till  we  reached  the  circle  of  the  camp. 

The  fire  was  blazing  bright  and  high,  and  there 
was  Anna  playing  with  the  little  Louis,  tossing  him 
as  she  sang  "Rockabye  Baby  on  the  Tree  Top," 


356     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  she  looked  up  at  Hiram  and  laughed  as  the 
boy  sprang  almost  out  of  her  arms!  They  were  so 
absorbed  in  each  other  they  did  not  see  me,  or  guess 
that  I  was  there.  A  mist  clouded  my  eyes.  There 
was  an  aching  void  in  my  heart,  a  wound  that  would 
not  be  healed.  I  wanted  to  see  Ernst,  I  wanted  to 
ask  him  to  forgive  me  for  being  cold  and  selfish  — 
unloving.  I  saw  him  pacing  up  and  down,  and  as 
if  my  feet  had  wings  I  went  to  him.  I  was  gathered 
close  —  close  —  to  his  breast.  Of  my  own  will  I 
kissed  him  —  the  first  true-love  kiss  my  lips  had 
ever  given  him,  the  kiss  that  a  maiden  should  give 
to  the  one  to  whom  she  has  given  her  heart,  to 
whom  she  has  promised  herself. 

That  kiss  meant  many  things.  In  it  was  the 
memory  of  all  I  had  just  witnessed  —  despair  and 
fear,  and  a  strange  rapture  that  had  never  stirred 
in  my  heart  till  then.  I  tried  to  tell  him  all  I  felt 
in  a  single  word.  It  was  just  his  name  —  Ernst, 
Ernst!  —  that  I  uttered;  that  was  all,  yet  he  knew! 

He  asked  me  no  question,  but  I  answered  him, 
as  if  he  had,  "Yes,  oh,  yes!"  And  I  whispered  the 
words  that  Dolores  had  said  —  they  belonged  to 
me!  "I  love  thee,  my  love!  In  life,  in  death,  I  love 
thee!"  And  without  further  speech  we  knew  that 
for  us  there  would  be  no  more  parting. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
THE  OWNER  OF  THE  MINE 

AROUND  us  are  the  towering  masses  of  the 
mountains,  bold,  bare,  jagged  peaks,  high 
shaggy   hills   covered   with   thick   forests. 
Some  of  these  steep  hills  we  have  to  climb;    some- 
times there  are  deep  rifts  and  chasms  through  which 
we  pass  from  one  fertile  valley  to  another. 

As  we  come  near  the  towns  we  find  rich  fields  and 
gardens  carefully  tended.  On  garden  walls  and 
on  the  roofs  of  the  low-built  houses,  the  prickly 
pear  grows,  and  its  bright  blossoms  help  to  make 
the  bare,  blank  walls  seem  not  quite  so  ugly  and 
forbidding.  In  the  States  the  poorest  villages  are 
pretty,  but  the  towns  here  have  no  redeeming  fea- 
tures. There  are  no  separate  houses,  with  neat 
piazzas,  glass-paned  windows;  no  strip  of  green 
lawn  and  double  row  of  flowers  along  the  front 
walk.  There  is  nothing  but  bare  road  and  bare, 
prison-like  walls  on  either  side.  The  grated  win- 
dows are  few  and  small  and  far  between.  The  big 
double  doors  that  give  access  to  the  court-yards 
are  like  rough  barn-doors,  and  the  court-yards  are 


358     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

like  barn-yards,  for  the  stables  and  the  cow-pen  and 
the  pig-pen  open  upon  them  —  the  living-rooms  of 
the  family,  also! 

The  women  are  frowzy  and  dirty,  but  they  know 
how  to  drape  their  rebosas  gracefully  about  them, 
and  each  wears  a  flower  in  her  hair.  They  seem 
bright  and  vivacious  and  good  tempered,  and  the 
young  girls  are,  almost  all  of  them,  beautiful. 

It  is  impossible  to  realize  that  these  people,  who 
crowd  around  us  with  smiles  and  compliments,  can 
be  the  hard,  wickedly  cruel  creatures  of  whom  we 
read  and  hear.  But,  as  Uncle  Pliny  says: 

"You-all  ain't  noticin'  that  it  is  mostly  women 
and  children  that  we  sees.  They  is  plenty  of  ugly 
cut-throats  what's  standin'  back,  an'  sayin'  nothin', 
only  they  takes  good  care  to  pocket  the  money  we 
hands  out  so  free  an'  plenty. 

"Some  of  'em  's  right  desprit  fellers,  an'  they 
ain't  no  tellin'  what  devilment  they  won't  be  up 
to.  And  even  the  littlest  ones  ain't  none  too  good. 
They'd  steal  the  nuts  off  n  the  wagons,  if  we  didn't 
keep  our  eyes  peeled !  An'  them  bigger  ones  —  over 
yander,  with  the  fishpoles  on  their  shoulders,  — 
well,  it  ain't  ten  minutes  ago  that  I  ketched  them 
very  boys  a-throwin'  their  fish-hooks  into  the  back 
of  my  grocery  wagin,  a-haulin'  out  whatever  come! 
They  got  my  wammus,  an'  thar  they  was,  a-quar- 


OWNER    OF    THE    MINE          359 

relin'  over  the  money  that  was  in  the  pockets, 
an'  not  a  bit  flustered  when  I  tackled  'em  'bout 
sech  bare-faced  stealin'.  *  Found  it  in  the  road!' 
they  kept  sayin',  an'  that  were  all  the  satisfaction 
that  was  to  be  got  out'n  them. 

"Tell  you!  These  here  mixed  bloods  —  half 
Spanish  an'  half  Portugee,  an'  half  Injun  or  nigger, 
an'  Lord  knows  what  else! — they's  a  mighty  bad 
prep'sition!  Born  without 'n  no  moral  sense,  so 
they  don't  know  what  right  an'  wrong  is.  An'  I'm 
a-tellin'  you,  when  I  think  'bout  this  here  Mexico 
country  a-tryin'  to  be  a  Republic  like  our'n,  I  says 
to  myself,  'For  the  Lord's  sake,  however  can  they 
expect  to  run  a  Gov'ment,  with  critters  like  these 
here  a-votin'!'  Like  the  Israelites  of  old,  I  reckon 
they'll  have  to  serve  their  'prenticeship  to  decency, 
forty  year  a-wanderin'  in  the  Wilderness,  with  the 
Lord's  chastenin'  hand  heavy  upon  them,  before 
ever  they'll  be  fitten  to  govern  theirselves.  That 
is  how  the  Deacon  sizes  it  up,  an'  I  'grees  with  the 
Deacon." 

Here,  at  San  Miguel,  there  is  an  ancient  Pueblo 
village,  which  I  very  much  wished  to  visit.  It  is 
built  tier  on  tier,  terrace  above  terrace,  with  ladders 
going  from  one  story  to  another,  with  cistern-lids  in 
the  roofs,  to  serve  as  doors  to  the  rooms  beneath. 


360     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

I  wanted  to  ask  the  Indian  girls  how  they  managed 
to  get  water  enough  to  do  house-keeping  with,  up 
those  ladders,  up  to  the  fifth  story!  I  wanted  to  go 
through  the  better  part  of  the  town,  where  the 
Spanish  fort  and  Chapel  and  the  old  Spanish  resi- 
dences were  grouped  together;  but  we  were  too 
late  in  arriving  to  permit  of  sight-seeing  excursions, 
and  they  say  we  are  to  leave  here  before  daylight 
to-morrow  morning,  so  we  may  reach  Santa  Fe  if 
possible  on  Saturday  night. 

Who  has  been  here  but  that  august  personage 
himself,  the  Senor  Don  Francisco  de  Velasco!  He 
came,  he  saw,  he  departed,  taking  with  him  those 
documents  in  regard  to  the  "  Glorieta "  mine,  which 
of  course  rightfully  belong  to  him!  I  think  Captain 
Harrod  must^have  had  some  communication  from 
him  before  he  arrived,  some  proof  of  the  legality 
of  his  claim  to  the  papers,  for  when  he  made  his 
appearance  all  this  seemed  to  be  perfectly  under- 
stood between  them. 

He  is  an  aristocratic  and  stately  old  Spaniard, 
a  person  of  intellect  and  power.  The  three  friends 
who  came  with  him  treated  him  with  a  respect  that 
could  not  be  exceeded  if  he  were  of  the  blood  royal! 
He  was  really  gentle  in  manner,  and  suave  and 
courteous,  as  a  royal  prince  is  supposed  to  be. 


OWNER    OF    THE    MINE  361 

I  was  startled  when  Captain  Harrod  suddenly 
appeared  beside  me,  and  thrust  that  package  into 
my  hands,  the  package  which  I  already  knew  too 
well,  and  said: 

"This  was  of  your  finding.  It  is  for  you  to  give 
it  into  the  keeping  of  the  Senor  de  Velasco.  He  is 
the  head  of  the  Velasco  family,  the  descendant  in 
direct  line  of  the  Luis  de  Velasco  who  was  sole 
owner  of  the  'Glorieta.'  The  papers  belong  to  him, 
and  he  desires  to  receive  them  from  your  hands!" 

I  could  not  refuse;  I  could  not  think  what  to  say. 
As  the 'Senor  bowed  his  courtly  bow,  I  awkwardly 
held  out  the  packet,  and  he  took  it  with  an  eager- 
ness that  he  could  not  altogether  repress.  He 
looked  at  me  and  tried  to  smile  nonchalantly. 
"How  is  one  to  believe  that  anything  so  wonderful 
should  happen?"  But  even  as  he  spoke,  his  hands 
were  tearing  at  the  wrappings,  his  eye,  sharp  and 
brilliant  as  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  was  darting  from 
page  to  page. 

"Even  if  I  wished  to  disbelieve  I  could  not.  It 
is  even  as  Paost  de  Brys  assured  me." 

He  showed  the  old  and  yellowed  map. 

"This  lake  of  the  four  rivers  —  the  hill  of  the 
broken  peak  —  the  two  pine-trees !  This  place  we 
know.  I,  myself,  have  hunted  over  every  foot  of 
it.  At  night  my  tent  has  been  raised  between  those 


362     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

two  great  pines  —  over  the  spot  where  is  the  secret 
entrance  to  the  'Glorieta,5  as  the  cross  on  the  map, 
here,  shows.  This  letter  written  by  the  slave, 
Juan!  We  know  of  Juan,  the  faithful  one  who 
helped  his  master  Luis  de  Velasco  to  escape  to 
Spain,  when  other  Spanish  landholders  were  mur- 
dered in  their  beds.  Yes,  surely,  this  is  written  in 
the  records  of  the  family.  Also  we  know  of  the 
mine  —  the  great  riches  of  it!  We  think  it  lost 
forever,  for  when  the  revolution  is  crushed,  and  the 
family  return  to  this  country,  there  was  naught  to 
show  where  it  had  been,  no  records  left,  the  stupid 
sullen  slaves  silent  as  the  grave.  It  was  a  legend 
only,  to  tell  the  children,  for  them  to  build  foolish, 
never-to-be-realized  hopes  upon. 

"And  that  the  dream  should  at  last  come  true  — 
that  the  ancient  documents  of  proof  should  have 
been,  in  some  strange  way,  preserved,  and  thus 
strangely  recovered,  and  given  to  us  of  the  fifth 
generation!  It  is  a  miracle!  —  a  miracle  in  very 
truth!" 

He  looked  up  and  brushed  his  hands  across  his 
eyes,  as  if  he  were  dazzled  by  a  blinding  light. 

"Yes,  Senores,"  and  his  utterance  was  rapid  and 
broken,  "yes,  you  may  understand,  that  at  the  first 
when  de  Brys  first  told  me  of  these  things,  I  thought 
he  was  drunken,  crazed.  Yet  as  he  spoke,  more 


OWNER    OF    THE    MINE  363 

and  more  the  truth  made  itself  apparent.  In  my 
heart  I  believed.  At  his  beseeching  I  sent  him, 
with  a  few  whom  I  could  trust,  to  uncover  the 
mine,  to  burrow  under  the  sliding  rock  to  discover 
the  entrance.  There  is  no  doubt!  They  will  find 
it !  Within  the  fortnight  the  '  Glorieta '  will  be  again 
open,  her  treasures  uncovered,  brought  out  into  the 
light  of  day!" 

He  staggered  as  if  he  were  overcome  with  wine. 

"Pardon  me,  I  am  overwrought.  So  much  of 
joy  the  heart  unsustained  may  not  bear!" 

He  was  not  ashamed  to  kneel  there,  before  us  all, 
and  murmur  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  and  praise 
to  God,  the  Virgin,  and  the  saints.  And  he  did 
not  rise,  until  he  had  quite  regained  his  composure. 

And  then  he  drew  me  to  him  and  kissed  my  brow, 
and  he  held  me  by  the  hand  while  he  endeavored 
to  express  the  gratitude  that  burdened  his  heart. 
In  the  extravagant  Spanish  way  of  speaking,  he 
protested  that  all  he  had,  all  he  ever  expected  to 
have,  I  and  my  friends  were  to  consider  as  our  own. 

He,  his  wife,  his  sons,  and  all  who  belonged  to 
him,  were  our  servants  to  command! 

"Indeed,  I  speak  but  the  plain  truth  when  I  say 
to  you  that  if  I  were  to  spend  a  lifetime  in  the  effort 
to  serve  you,  it  would  be  recompense  inadequate 
for  this  that  I  have  received  from  your  hands. 


364     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

There  are  many  who  if  they  had  found  the  map  — 
the  papers  —  would  have  kept  the  secret,  that  they 
might  secure  for  themselves  the  treasures  of  the 
mine.  So  it  might  have  been  donex  and  no  one 
would  have  known!  No  one  could  have  called  you 
to  account !  Such  generosity  —  such  high  sense 
of  honor!  When  de  Brys  tell  me,  I  say,  'It  is  diffi- 
cult to  believe!'  There  are  no  words  that  I  can 
say,  only  that  I  must  not  forget  to  say  the  words 
my  wife,  the  Dona  Felda,  put  in  my  mouth  to  say 
to  the  young  Sefiorita.  Oh,  surely  she  knows  of 
you,  all  that  Paost  de  Brys  could  tell  her,  —  and  he 
has  eyes,  yes,  indeed!  And  I  am  to  say  to  you  that 
she  will  be  of  a  desolateness,  so  she  would  wish  to 
die  of  grief  and  shame,  if  you  should  deny  her, 
when  she  begs  of  you  that  you  will  make  our  house 
your  home,  to  remain  with  us  as  our  honored  guest, 
our  beloved  daughter,  during  your  stay  in  our  city. 
There  are  relatives  already  summoned  from  Chihua- 
hua, and  Santa  Rosalia,  nephews  and  nieces,  who 
will  help  to  make  the  time  pass  pleasantly  for  you. 
Oh,  there  will  be  feasting  and  merry-makings,  I 
promise  you!" 

I  looked  across  to  Ernst  and  smiled.  The  Senor's 
piercing  black  eyes  intercepted  the  glance,  —  and 
he  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  all  that  concerned 
me,  concerned  Ernst  also.  If  I  had  been,  indeed, 


OWNER    OF    THE    MINE  365 

his  own  daughter,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
delighted,  more  thoughtful  and  considerate!  He 
questioned  Ernst,  and  when  he  found  the  wedding 
is  to  be  so  soon,  he  asked  permission  to  attend  to 
the  necessary  preliminary  formalities.  As  Deacon 
Gentry  had  said,  it  is  an  affair  of  some  little  diffi- 
culty for  a  Protestant  to  be  properly  married  in 
this  Catholic  country,  —  but  through  the  Senor's 
influence  it  can  be  arranged. 

He  is  taking  on  his  shoulders  all  of  our  perplexi- 
ties. The  Captain's  face  showed  the  relief  he  felt 
when  Velasco  undertook  to  arrange  the  matter  that 
brought  Captain  Harrod  to  the  West  —  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Olivarez  estate,  and  the  protection  and 
care  of  Inez,  Olivarez's  little  daughter.  She  is  to 
be  taken  from  the  nunnery,  where  she  is  held  as  a 
prisoner,  and  adopted  into  the  Velasco  family. 

"Always  has  the  Dona  Felda  lamented  that  there 
was  no  daughter,  no  sister,  to  grow  up  with  our 
two  sons.  She  will  rejoice  to  receive  this  little  one, 
—and  as  to  the  property  of  her  father,  Manuel 
Olivarez,  it  is  confiscate  to  the  Mexican  govern- 
ment. And  here,  too,  I  am  in  a  position  to  help 
you.  It  was  through  a  conspiracy  of  Armijo  and 
others  of  his  sort  that  the  theft  was  accomplished. 
Armijo  is  ill,  very  ill  indeed;  and  in  the  conduct  of 
my  own  business  I  have  been  obliged  to  examine 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

all  papers,  even  those  of  the  Gobernador.  The 
evidence  is  there  where  I  can  lay  my  hands  upon  it 
—  yes,  I  have  the  papers  to  prove  what  I  say. 

"For  the  Seiior  Harrod  it  would  be  better  that 
he  should  go  down  into  Mexico  with  his  friend,  the 
Sefior  Breunner.  Surely,  yes!  I  will  put  those 
papers  of  which  I  speak  into  your  hands,  and  you 
shall  take  them  and  give  them  to  Santa  Anna. 
You  shall  make  statement  to  him.  What  is  to  be 
done  in  Santa  Fe,  I  will  attend  to  that.  It  will  be 
well  that  you  do  not  appear  in  the  city,  so  it  will 
not  be  thought  that  there  is  an  inquiry  in  progress. 
From  this  place,  San  Miguel,  you  can  cross  over  by 
the  White  Lakes  to  San  Pedro,  and  wait  your  party 
there.  There  will  be  no  mischance  to  the  caravan, 
because  of  your  absence.  An  escort  of  cavalry 
from  the  fort  will  easily  be  secured. 

"Yes,  indeed!  We  will  wrest  this  inheritance  of 
the  little  Dona  Inez  from  the  hands  of  those  who 
would  rob  her.  The  sum  is  of  a  largeness  to  justify 
our  efforts  to  secure  it.  Also,  it  will  be  of  the  great- 
est pleasure  to  me,  that  I  cross  this  Gobernador  in 
his  wicked  plans.  So  I  repay  him  for  the  thousand 
slights  and  humiliations  he  has  put  upon  me.  Me! 
The  true  descendant  of  the  Velascos,  in  whose 
presence  he  is  not  worthy  to  appear!  Ah,  you  do 
not  know  what  he  is,  or  how  our  city  has  been  given 


OWNER    OF    THE    MINE  367 

over  to  the  spoiler.  So  much  of  cruelty!  So  much 
of  treachery!  Such  breaking  of  solemn  oaths! 
Such  profligacy  in  the  high  places  of  government! 
Armijo  shall  receive  a  rebuke  from  Santa  Anna. 
Yes,  Santa  Anna  has  the  power,  if  he  chooses  to 
exercise  it,  to  curb  and  check,  to  put  the  iron  bit 
in  his  mouth.  It  is  to  the  influence  of  the  Velascos, 
and  their  friends,  that  Santa  Anna  owes  it,  this 
power,  so  he  will  not  wish  to  deny  me  any  favor  I 
ask  him.  Yes,  you  will  see!  This  much  I  may 
surely  promise  you." 

Ernst  and  the  Captain  and  the  Senor  Velasco 
have  gone  over  to  the  Fort  for  a  conference  with 
the  officers  there.  Captain  Harrod  did  not  think 
to  give  us  the  opportunity  to  bid  him  farewell.  We 
will  not  see  him  again  till  we  arrive  in  San  Pedro, 
on  our  way  to  Mexico. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
THE  BLESSING  OF  THE  CARAVAN 

WHEN  the  escort  of  soldiers,  whom  Senor 
de  Velasco  had  arranged  for,  came  into 
camp   at   daybreak  this   morning,   they 
found  the  wagons  ready  to  "string  out"  and  start. 
The  men  are  more  and  more  eager  to  get  on,  and 
"make  time,"  but  it  is  a  case  of  "the  more  haste, 
the  less   speed."     There   were  three  break-downs, 
from  carelessness  and  reckless  driving,  before  the 
caravan  had  gone  three  miles. 

The  wagons  could  only  creep  along  when  we  came 
to  Canoncita  Pass,  the  path  was  so  rough.  All  the 
light  there  was,  was  the  little  that  filtered  in  through 
the  heavy  foliage  of  the  pine-trees  that  edged  the 
canyon.  It  was  cold  and  damp  down  there  and 
Ernst  and  I  mounted  our  ponies,  and  rode  on  ahead, 
up  into  the  sunshine.  We  passed  along  close  to  the 
brink  of  dizzy  precipices,  where  a  little  misbehavior 
on  the  part  of  the  horses  would  have  sent  us  to  our 
death.  I  could  hardly  believe  the  road  was  wide 


BLESSING    OF    THE    CARAVAN 

enough  for  the  wagons  —  I  was  sure  there  was  not 
an  inch  to  spare. 

The  teams  that  travel  these  dangerous  roads  must 
all  wear  bells,  as  warning  to  others  who  may  wish 
to  pass  them  on  the  narrow  road.  "Up-going 
teams,  straight  ahead!  Down-going  teams,  pull  out 
and  wait."  This  is  the  rule  of  the  mountains,  a 
necessary  rule  for  the  safety  of  all  travelers. 

Ernst  and  I  had  drawn  rein,  where  a  tiny  thread 
of  water  trickled  across  the  path.  We  watered 
the  horses,  and  sat  down  to  rest  there  till  the  caravan 
should  overtake  us.  We  heard  the  grinding  of  wheels 
on  stones,  —  and  saw  above  us  a  string  of  Mexican 
carts  rounding  a  curve  in  the  road. 

The  track  here  was  wide  enough  for  passing,  and 
we  surely  thought  the  carts  would  stop.  We  could 
hear  plainly  enough  the  bells  of  the  caravan,  sound- 
ing not  so  very  far  away.  But  the  Mexican  who 
was  in  charge  of  the  little  cavalcade  was  going  right 
on,  when  Ernst  spoke,  explaining  that  it  was  a  big 
caravan  that  was  coming  up  the  trail,  and  that  the 
road  was  narrow  further  on.  The  surly  fellow  made 
us  no  answer,  and  he  tried  to  urge  his  skinny  ox- 
teams  to  a  faster  gait!  He  was  in  a  wickedly  ugly 
state  of  mind.  He  swore  at  the  boys  that  were 
driving  the  teams.  He  kicked  the  oxen  in  the  sides. 
He  beat  the  mule  he  was  riding,  and  rowelled  its 


370     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

flanks  unmercifully  with  his  sharp  pointed  spurs. 
And  when  we  tried  to  go  by  him,  he  would  not 
yield  us  one  inch  of  the  way,  and  we  had  to  dis- 
mount and  lead  the  ponies  by,  along  the  slippery 
side-hill. 

And  the  two  caravans  met,  where  the  road  was 
the  narrowest,  where  there  was  no  room  for  turning 
back,  no  room  at  all  for  passing.  I  asked  myself, 
"What  will  they  do?  What  can  they  do?  They 
cannot  go  on,  and  they  cannot  stay  here  forever!" 
It  made  me  think  of  that  old  puzzle  question  in  the 
back  of  the  Philosophy  book:  "When  a  body  that 
is  irresistible  meets  a  body  that  is  immovable  what 
happens?"  I  have  forgotten  what  the  answer  to 
that  was,  —  but  I  know  how  our  people  solved  their 
problem.  Without  heeding  that  Mexican  any  more 
than  if  he  had  been  a  wooden  statue,  they  unhitched 
his  teams  from  his  carts,  and  set  their  own  shoulders 
to  the  wheels,  and  backed  them  up  that  steep, 
steep  hill  till  they  came  to  a  place  wide  enough  for 
passing,  and  there  they  set  them  out  at  the  side  of 
the  road  and  left  them! 

The  Mexican  was  furious !  He  swore  and  swore  — 
till  his  face  was  spotted  and  blotched  from  anger. 
He  jerked  at  the  reins  of  his  mule  so  viciously  that 
it  reared  and  threw  him.  He  was  on  his  feet  that 
very  same  instant,  and  when  the  poor  frightened 


BLESSING    OF    THE    CARAVAN     371 

beast  did  not  rise,  he  drew  his  knife,  a  long  ugly 
shining  knife,  and  struck  the  animal  in  the  neck, 
again  and  again!  The  blood  spurted  out,  and  dyed 
the  ground  red;  and  then  he  came  to  his  senses,  as 
if  it  was  his  brain  that  had  been  relieved  by  the 
blood-letting.  He  hurriedly  snatched  up  dust  from 
the  road,  and  stuffed  it  into  the  open  wounds,  to 
stop  the  bleeding,  and  the  trembling  beast  made 
an  effort  to  get  upon  its  feet;  but  in  its  struggle  it 
slipped  over  the  edge  of  the  narrow  path,  and  went 
crashing  down,  and  lodged  at  last  against  an 
up-jutting  rock,  just  where  the  cliff  dropped  per- 
pendicularly to  the  river. 

And  now  there  was  another  Ernst  there  before 
me,  in  the  place  of  my  gentle  Ernst.  His  cheeks 
blazed  red!  His  voice  was  sharp  and  harsh!  He 
seized  that  Mexican  by  his  jacket  and  forced  him 
over  the  brink,  out  upon  the  steep  and  slippery 
slope,  not  hesitating  to  follow  him  himself.  He 
slipped  a  loop  of  a  lazo-rope  around  the  Mexican's 
arm  and  around  his  own  waist  to  help  him  if  he 
should  stumble. 

The  two  of  them  made  their  way  down  to  the 
place  where  the  mule  was  lying.  Their  dark  forms 
showed  sharply  against  the  paleness  of  the  distant 
valley  —  so  far,  so  far,  below!  We  held  our  breath 
as  we  looked!  The  mule  was  paralyzed  with  fright, 


372     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  the  man  was  terror-stricken  to  the  point  of 
idiocy.  He  stood  trembling  while  Ernst  put  the 
ropes  around  the  mule's  body  and  helped  to  lift  it 
over  the  obstructing  stones  as  our  men  drew  it 
slowly  upward.  The  Mexican  was  left  to  make  the 
ascent  the  best  way  he  could.  Nobody  gave  any 
thought  to  him.  But  by  the  time  the  wounds 
were  dressed,  and  the  beast  was  on  its  feet,  the 
Mexican  was  there,  ready  to  climb  again  into  the 
saddle;  and  he  was  such  a  pitiable  figure,  that  Ernst 
helped  him  a  little,  and  put  the  reins  in  his  hands. 
And  so  the  two,  the  abused  mule,  and  the  abusive 
Mexican,  went  along  up  the  trail,  to  take  their 
places  beside  the  carts,  there  to  wait  the  passing 
of  the  caravan. 

It  was  long  and  tedious  work,  to  wheel  all  those 
carts  up  the  hill,  and  those  of  us  who  were  not 
actively  employed  were  given  a  little  holiday  time, 
till  the  bugle  should  summon  us  back  to  the  wagons 
again. 

High  above  us  was  a  most  enticing  spot,  a  peaked 
point  of  rock,  the  very  topmost  bit  of  solid  earth, 
for  miles  around.  John  said  I  must  not  try  to  go 
up  there,  but  Ernst  said  I  might,  so  I  did.  Ernst 
expected  that  I  would  let  him  almost  carry  me,  — 
he  is  strong  enough,  but  I  knew  I  was  able  to  climb 


BLESSING    OF    THE    CARAVAN     373 

the  rock,  all  by  myself.  It  is  surely  with  me  as 
Uncle  Pliny  says: 

"It  ain't  nowise  a  bad  thing  for  a  person  to  get 
into  a  cruel  tight  place,  sometimes  —  ef  they  don't 
gin  up,  ef  they  goes  through  it  with  good  courage. 
Seems  like  they  is  somethin'  deep  down  in  ever'  one 
of  us,  stronger  than  we  ordinary  knows  on.  We 
gets  into  a  hard  place  where  they  ain't  seemin'ly 
any  way  out  of,  an'  that  strength  comes  a-surgin' 
up,  an*  we  uses  it  reckless  like,  maybe,  not  knowin* 
how  it  is  goin'  to  last  us,  an'  somehow,  it  lasts  us 
through.  An'  after  we  once  gets  a-holt  of  it,  an' 
uses  it  that-a-way,  it  ain't  never  goin'  to  leave  us. 
An'  it  helps  us  a  heap  of  times,  all  through  our 
lives." 

The  hill  was  steep  above  us,  but  it  was  not  too 
difficult  for  me.  We  reached  the  topmost  top,  and 
found  there  a  level  place,  almost  big  enough  for 
half  a  dozen  people  to  stand  on,  and  a  stone  seat 
almost  big  enough,  just  big  enough,  for  two! 

The  strong  wind  tried  to  lift  us  and  carry  us 
upward  and  away,  but  we  were  not  ready  yet  to 
leave  this  beautiful  earth. 

Far  below  us  lay  the  green  valley,  its  bright  colors 
and  all  its  outlines  softened  and  subdued  by  the 
tremulous  heat  waves  that  rippled  in  between. 
There  was  the  sparkling  river,  winding  in  and  out 


374     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

between  clustered  groups  of  trees,  and  there  were 
little  villages  with  orchards  and  gardens,  and, 
rising  around  us  on  every  side,  tree-clad  hills  thrust- 
ing themselves  upward  boldly,  receding,  melting 
through  infinite  gradations  of  tone  and  color  into 
the  masses  of  the  distant  mountain-peaks.  Wander- 
ing filmy  clouds  floated  over  and  around  them  till 
we  could  hardly  discern  which  was  cloud  and  which 
was  mountain.  One  seemed  as  ethereal  and  unsub- 
stantial as  the  other. 

We  had  taken  the  first  steps  in  the  descent,  when 
we  heard  Marienella's  gay  laugh.  Rob  was  with 
her,  and  they  showed  us  another  way  down,  much 
easier  than  the  way  by  which  we  had  come.  And 
Marienella  and  I  went  ahead,  leaving  the  men  to 
loiter  as  they  would. 

She  chattered  incessantly,  but  I  knew  that  a  part 
of  her  attention  was  given  to  what  Rob  was  saying. 
Very  particular  and  very  private  matters  it  was 
they  were  discussing,  but  Rob's  voice  is  not  a  small 
one,  and  we  did  not  need  to  lose  a  single  word  he 
said.  He  was  inquiring  how  two  people  were  to  be 
married  in  this  country,  if  one  is  Catholic  and  the 
other  Scotch  Presbyterian!  Would  it  be  the  Ameri- 
can Consul  that  would  arrange  it? 

And  then,  as  we  stopped  and  waited  for  them,  he 
went  on: 


BLESSING    OF    THE    CARAVAN     375 

"Marienella  an'  me,  we  are  no  goin'  to  wait  till 
we  get  to  Santa  Fe  to  be  marrit,  ye  ken.  Na,  na! 
The  weddin'  is  to  be  in  the  camp  before  we  come  to 
the  city.  I'm  no  sae  sma'  that  I  needs  to  be  a 
coward,  in  ordinar'  cases,  but  it's  a  fearfu'  thing  to 
think  o'  me,  wi'  the  lassie  on  my  arm,  a-walkin'  up 
the  aisle  of  they  strange  kirk,  an'  to  hae  a  strange 
meenister  or  priest,  or  whatever,  wi'  his  gew-gaw 
vestments  on  him,  a-spierin'  his  questions  at  us, 
an'  the  strange  folk  a-lookin'  on.  It  maks  my  knees 
to  be  a-clackin'  togither  wi'  fear.  I'm  no  denyin' 
of  it.  Na,  na!  We'll  be  marrit  oot  o'  doors,  unner 
God's  blue  sky !  That  is  maist  like  hame  to  us,  an' 
the  men  that  we  hae  traveled  wi'  sae  lang,  they're 
maist  like  hame-folks.  They  will  wish  us,  'Joy  be 
wi'  ye! '  an'  mean  it  true,  an'  that  is  a  gude  begin- 
nin.'  We'll  hae  it  done,  wi'  as  little  fuleishness  of 
ceremony  as  may  be,  an'  walk  into  the  city,  before 
the  eyes  of  they  stranger  folk  as  man  an'  wife.  ? 
That's  what  I  telPt  Marienella,  an'  that's  the  way 
as  suits  us  both." 

I  repeated  Rob's  words,  "Out  of  doors,  under 
God's  blue  sky ! "  It  is  nearest  like  home,  and  those 
who  have  traveled  with  us  so  long  are  nearest  like 
home  folks.  And  Ernst  said,  "To  be  married  without 
unnecessary  formalities,  to  enter  Santa  Fe  as  hus- 
band and  wife!"  And  so  it  was  settled  then  and 


376     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

there  that  the  two  weddings  should  take  place  at 
the  same  time.  And  Marienella  will  be  bridesmaid 
to  me,  and  I  will  be  bridesmaid  to  her. 

Anna  and  Marienella  and  Deya  are  deep  in  the 
discussion  of  "something  to  wear."  Anna  says  the 
dresses  must  be  white.  Marienella  suggests,  "Pink 
is  pretty."  But  we  have  finally  all  agreed  that 
white  will  be  nicest  for  our  wedding  gowns. 

Deacon  Gentry  and  I  have  been  in  consultation, 
and  he  is  to  be  my  envoy  into  Santa  Fe,  to  buy  what 
we  need  from  the  Santa  Fe  shops  —  a  white  dress 
and  veil,  and  gloves  and  slippers,  for  me,  and  for 
the  little  girl  who  is  to  be  Rob  MacLeod's  wife — it 
will  be  my  wedding  gift  to  her. 

The  Deacon  is  sure  he  can  do  the  errand  satis- 
factorily. 

"I  remember,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  the  gown 
that  Susan  wore  the  day  we  were  married;  and  I 
think  I  can  find  something  near  enough  like  to  that; 
and  if  I  am  puzzled  I  can  go  to  the  wife  of  the 
Sefior  de  Velasco,  and  ask  her  to  help  me  decide." 

The  Deacon  is  so  much  milder  and  kinder  than 
he  used  to  be  —  with  me  and  with  every  one.  I 
have  noticed  it  ever  since  Anna's  baby  came  to  live 
with  us. 

The  Indian  women  of  the  North  have  a  pretty 


BLESSING    OF    THE    CARAVAN     377 

custom,  Ernst  tells  me,  of  walking  around  their 
cornfields  in  the  dark  of  the  moon.  They  call  it, 
"The  blessing  of  the  cornfields."  And  with  us  it 
is  as  if  Anna  had  taken  her  baby  and  made  the 
triple-circle  of  the  camp  to  invoke  a  blessing  on  the 
caravan,  for  everything  has  prospered  with  us  since 
little  Louis  came. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
LIKE  A  RIPE  PLUM 

WE  have  been  told  that  we  will  not  reach 
Santa   Fe   till   Monday.     The   Sabbath 
will  be  spent  on  the  hills  outside  of  the 
city,  and  it  is  there  that  we  will  be  married,  Ernst 
and  I,  and  Marienella  and  Rob.     It  is  beautiful 
that  it  happens  just  so.     It  is  all  just  as  we  would 
wish  it  to  be. 

The  caravan  is  camped  for  the  night  here  near 
the  ancient  village  of  Pecos  close  under  the  eastern 
tower  of  the  ruined  old  temple.  The  Captain's  two 
wagons  were  placed  against  the  wall,  with  a  double 
row  of  the  Deacon's  wagons  outside  to  hide  them 
from  the  view  of  the  men  of  the  camp.  Secretly, 
working  like  moles  in  the  dark,  Auguste  and  Franchy 
and  big  Rob  are  now  working,  transferring  guns  and 
pistols  and  powder  and  ball  to  a  vault  or  cistern 
that  lies  beneath  the  fallen  stones  of  the  tower. 

The  Spanish  Lieutenant,  with  whom  Senor  de 
Velasco  and  Captain  Harrod  and  Ernst  were  in 
conference  at  San  Miguel,  is  superintending  this 


LIKE    A    RIPE    PLUM  379 

work.  When  Manuel  Olivarez  last  year  wrote  to 
Mr.  Harrod,  asking  him  to  assume  the  guardianship 
of  Inez,  he  told  him  to  bring  to  New  Mexico  ammuni- 
tion and  weapons  for  the  arming  of  the  American 
residents  of  Santa  Fe.  Olivarez  felt  that  their  lives 
were  not  safe  from  week  to  week,  or  from  day  to 
day.  Since  Olivarez's  death,  since  Santa  Anna  has 
become  President  of  the  Republic,  conditions  have 
materially  improved;  yet  de  Velasco  suggested 
that  the  weapons  might  not  come  amiss  some  day. 

"Surely  it  will  be  well  that  they  be  where  they  will 
be  easily  obtainable.  If  they  are  hidden  in  this 
vault  that  I  know  of  at  old  Pecos,  they  can  be  taken 
from  there,  a  few  at  a  time,  and  distributed  among 
the  law-abiding  citizens,  for  the  protection  of  them- 
selves and  then-  property,  if  the  day  should  come 
when  they  might  need  protection!"  he  said. 

This  Lieutenant,  whom  Velasco  engaged  to  ac- 
company the  caravan  into  Santa  Fe,  says  it  is  whis- 
pered here  and  there,  and  among  those  who  have 
reason  to  know  of  what  they  are  speaking,  that  if 
the  United  States  and  Mexico  declare  war  upon 
each  other,  New  Mexico  will  be  apt  to  ask  to  be 
taken  into  the  sisterhood  of  the  States,  even  as 
Texas  is  about  to  do.  There  are  many  American 
residents  in  New  Mexico,  and  especially  in  Santa 
Fe.  American  sentiment  is  strong.  The  property 


380     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

interests  of  the  better  class  of  the  Mexicans  are  so 
bound  up  with  those  of  the  Americans  that  they  will 
desire  a  closer  union  of  the  two  peoples.  And  the 
citizens  have  been  so  shamefully  tricked  and  be- 
trayed by  their  Presidents,  they  have  been  so 
pillaged  and  plundered  by  the  Gobernadores  who 
have  been  set  over  them,  that  they  would  be  glad 
of  any  change.  They  have  confidence  in  the  people 
of  the  States,  and  would  rejoice  openly  to  see  the 
American  flag  floating  above  their  Gobernadores 
Palacio. 

"At  the  first  shock  of  conflict,  you  may  believe 
me,  New  Mexico  will  fall,  like  a  ripe  plum,  into  the 
lap  of  the  United  States!  The  tree  will  need  no 
rude  shaking  —  of  itself  the  plum  will  fall!  Some 
few  of  us  within  the  inner  circle,  the  circle  where 
Velasco  is  leader,  know  these  things  are  true,  as  I 
say!  Armijo  and  his  hirelings  know  nothing  of  this, 
they  would  tell  you  different,  yet  this  is  the  very 
truth!" 

These  political  matters  are  of  vital  interest  to 
Ernst  and  to  all  those  who  are  to  make  the  journey 
into  this  country  of  Mexico. 

A  certain  line  of  work  was  laid  out  for  Ernst  by 
the  Baron  von  Munsterberg,  and  he  will  faithfully 
carry  out  the  undertaking  as  it  was  planned!  His 
instructions  were  to  secure  information  in  regard  to 


LIKE    A    RIPE    PLUM  381 

the  treasures  of  ancient  Mexico  —  to  ascertain  all 
that  is  known  about  the  art  and  literature,  and  the 
habits  and  customs,  of  the  early  Spanish  conquerors 
and  of  the  Aztecs  whom  they  conquered.  But  now, 
in  addition  to  this,  the  avowed  purpose  of  the  expe- 
dition, something  else  is  to  be  attempted.  Maps 
are  to  be  made  of  the  country  through  which  we  are 
to  travel,  and  as  far  as  it  may  be  possible,  the  minds 
and  temper  of  both  the  leaders  and  the  common 
people  are  to  be  studied:  all  of  which  will  be  em- 
bodied in  a  report  for  the  use  of  the  Government 
at  Washington.  This  is  as  yet  a  time  of  peace, 
and  it  may  now  be  safely  done.  Captain  Harrod 
thinks  that  this  secondary  purpose  may  be  the  most 
valuable  part  of  the  work  of  the  expedition,  and  to 
this  end  he  is  ready  to  devote  all  his  private 
fortune. 

The  signal,  "Lights  out!"  will  sound  in  just  a 
minute,  and  I  fear  I  will  not  have  time  to  write 
down  what  I  have  learned  about  this  old  ruin.  I 
have  heard  many  legends  regarding  it. 

The  Mexicans  who  live  along  the  Pecos  valley 
believe  that  there  are  seven  of  the  ancient  tribe  of 
Pecos  Indians  living  here  in  the  Temple,  hidden  in 
the  subterranean  labyrinth  of  vaults  and  caverns; 
and  that  they  still  keep  alive  the  sacred  fire  on  the 


382     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

altar  in  the  innermost  sanctuary,  that  they  are  still 
waiting  for  the  coming  of  their  king,  Montezuma; 
that  they  still  offer  living  human  victims  on  that 
altar!  They  declare  that  they  sometimes  see, 
against  the  clear  sky,  the  smoke  of  the  sacrifice 
ascending,  from  some  unlocated  opening  in  the 
temple  walls. 

"No,"  they  say,  "we  not  go  near  that  abhorred 
place !  It  is  haunted  by  ghosts,  —  those  seven,  the 
last  of  their  tribe.  Like  specters  are  they,  —  worse 
than  the  ghosts  of  those  who  are  altogether  dead!" 

Every  one  avoids  the  place.  Even  our  teamsters, 
those  who  know  the  country,  would  have  liked  to 
make  objection  to  camping  so  near  the  walls. 

Taps!    Lights  out! 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE  SECOND-SIGHT 

ROB  and  Ernst  and  Deacon  Gentry  left  the 
caravan    at    four    o'clock    this    morning. 
They  expect  to  spend  the  day  in  Santa 
Fe,  and  will  meet  us  in  camp  this  evening  —  the 
camp  at  "Rock  Corral,"  eight  miles  out  from  the 
city. 

After  breakfast  Marienella  went  over  to  the  big 
wagon,  Hiram's  wagon,  for  her  usual  morning  romp 
with  baby  Louis;  and  John  and  I  followed.  We 
were  a  very  quiet  little  party.  Anna  was  counting 
stitches  in  a  fancy  sock  she  was  knitting  for  the 
baby.  He  was  cuddled  up  like  a  little  dormouse, 
in  Marienella's  arms,  pretending  to  be  asleep,  and 
she  did  not  dare  to  stir.  I  do  not  remember  that 
any  one  said  anything,  except  as  John  and  I  talked 
in  lowered  tones,  in  broken  phrases,  with  long 
pauses  in  between,  of  the  time  when  we  were  little 
tads  back  in  York-State,  and  of  the  way  we  used 
to  play.  We  used  to  have  such  good  times  to- 
gether, and  now  those  happy,  careless  days  are 


384     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

past.  We  like  to  see  the  shadow  of  them  in  mem- 
ory's mirror,  but  we  would  not  like  to  really  live 
them  again.  The  present  has  sweeter  joys,  —  the 
future  holds  for  us  richer  promises. 

While  we  talked  we  saw  two  horsemen  coming 
from  the  northwest,  and  it  proved  to  be  Danny  and 
Stoneman,  returning  to  us  from  Santa  Fe. 

Good-natured  Danny  did  not  seem  good-natured 
at  all!  He  came  and  helped  me  down  from  the 
wagon  as  soon  as  the  caravan  stopped,  —  and  he 
was  cross!  He  snappily  told  the  boys  that  they 
needn't  try  to  tell  him  anything  —  he  already  "knew 
a-plenty!" 

"I  met  Ernst  Breunner  and  the  Deacon,  down  in 
the  city,  and  they  told  me  everything  —  all  about 
this  impromptu  wedding,  and  all!" 

He  turned  to  me,  and  tried  to  make  me  believe 
that  the  black  frown  on  his  brow  was  real.  I  knew 
it  was  put  on,  and  that  he  was  smiling  inwardly  to 
himself  all  the  time. 

"You  might  have  told  me  that  you  and  Breunner 
were  engaged,  that's  what  you  might!  Of  course 
it  isn't  any  great  surprise.  I  knew  how  'twas  going 
to  turn  out;  'twas  plain  enough.  There's  one 
thing,  however,  I  wouldn't  have  guessed  in  a  thou- 
sand years,  and  that  is  that  you'd  go  and  have  a 
gipsy-wedding  like  this.  It's  absurd!" 


THE    SECOND-SIGHT  385 

I  just  told  the  young  man  that,  on  the  contrary, 
it  was  the  very  nicest  kind  of  a  wedding. 

"Ernst  and  I  have  only  known  each  other  as 
nomads  and  gipsies;  why  shouldn't  we  have  a 
gispy  wedding  if  it  suits  us?" 

All  he  could  say  in  reply  was  that  our  foolish 
romantic  notions  were  making  a  lot  of  trouble  "for 
a  lot  of  people." 

"And  it's  a  disappointment  to  the  Velascos. 
Yes,  they're  taking  as  much  interest  in  the  affair 
as  if  you  belonged  to  them.  They  were  going  to 
make  it  a  matter  of  state,  and  all  the  relatives  from 
miles  down  the  road  have  been  summoned  as  wit- 
nesses of  the  ceremony!  Of  course  they  will  be 
too  late  for  the  wedding,  —  but  there  will  be 
the  'infair'  afterwards,  and  all  the  post-nuptial 
festivities. 

"Ernst  and  the  Deacon  said  the  wedding  would 
be  'a  simple  ceremony.'  You'll  find  out  how 
*  simple'  it's  likely  to  be!  When  you  are  in  Santa 
Fe,  you  must  do  as  the  Santa  Feyans  do.  You'll 
have  to  have  the  services  of  a  dozen  dignitaries  — 
the  Padre,  the  Cure,  the  Alcalde,  the  notary  and  his 
clerk,  the  consul  and  his  secretary,  —  and  goodness 
knows  how  many  others!  And  all  of  these '11  have 
to  be  received  in  style,  and  suitably  entertained! 
And  that's  not  all!  The  Sefior  and  Senora  de 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

Velasco  are  coming,  too,  as  guests,  and  the  Senora 
intends  to  bring  with  her  four  of  the  prettiest 
sefioritas  in  Santa  Fe  to  act  as  bridesmaids.  How's 
that  for  a  'simple'  wedding?  The  Seiior  and  Senora 
Velasco  themselves  explained  all  these  details  to 
me,  and  I  assured  them  Miss  Deya  would  be 
delighted  with  all  that  had  been  planned  for  her!" 

Danny  had  been  out  to  call  upon  the  Velascos.  It 
would  have  been  a  gross  breach  of  etiquette  if  he 
had  not  done  so,  friendly  as  they  have  shown  them- 
selves to  be.  There  is  an  old  duenna  in  the  family, 
a  humble  relative,  who  is  more  concerned  for  the 
honor  of  the  Velascos  than  the  Senor  or  Senora 
themselves. 

"The  old  woman  went  with  me  down  to  the 
gate,"  Danny  said,  "and  she  talked  continuously." 
"Si,  si,  Senor!  There  will  be  great  doings  here, 
when  the  little  Senorita  comes  —  fetes,  and  festal 
days  and  nights!  But,  alas!  this  place,  it  is  not 
fit  to  receive  guests  so  distinguished!  Not  as  it 
was  in  the  old  days,  —  that  was  long  ago,  —  but 
one  can  yet  see  what  it  must  have  been.  Look  you! 
the  marble  pavement,  the  benches,  the  fountain, 
all  of  them  brought  from  old  Spain!  And  here  the 
walls  of  the  old  house  —  a  palacio !  —  yes,  burned 
and  in  ruins  these  hundreds  of  years,  —  since  the 
family  fled  to  Spain  in  the  time  of  the  great  revolu- 


THE    SECOND-SIGHT  387 

tion.  Yet  are  the  ruins  beautiful  —  see !  —  with 
the  rose-vines  climbing  everywhere!  Saw  you  ever 
such  roses?  And  white  roses!  We  did  not  know 
there  were  white  roses  growing  here  —  never  did 
they  blossom,  till  this  year!  This  year,  of  all  the 
years!  White  roses  for  the  bride  who  is  coming  to 
us!  Surely! 

"'The  pretty  Senorita,  with  the  big  grey  eyes,  the 
long  black  lashes,  and  the  dusky  hair  —  I  do  not 
need  to  ask  you  of  her.  Oh,  yes,  the  Capitan  Paost 
de  Brys,  he  tell  us  of  her.  But  it  is  not  that !  I  have 
the  vision  of  her  —  yes,  in  the  night,  —  last  night 
—  but  I  was  not  asleep !  It  is  the  second-sight. 
Si,  si,  I  have  the  power!  Plain  as  I  see  you  here 
before  me,  so  last  night  I  saw  her!  I  saw  the  big 
moon  hanging  like  St.  Christopher's  lantern  in  the 
sky,  the  torches  flaring  on  the  walls,  the  pavement 
here  shining  smooth  as  glass,  and  her  pretty  feet 
in  red  slippers  twinkling  over  it  in  the  dance,  and 
the  music  such  as  to  make  even  my  old  bones  to 
shiver  with  the  sweet  desires  of  youth!  And  the 
little  Senorita  smiled  upon  me  as  she  danced,  with 
her  lover-husband's  arm  about  her,  his  eyes  looking 
down  upon  her,  —  oh,  she  was  happy,  I  promise 
you!  It  was  a  dress  of  red  that  she  wore,  and  a  red 
rose  in  her  hair,  like  a  true  Spanish  maiden.  And 
they  danced  the  stars  out  and  the  daylight  in, 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

and  the  guests  drank  to  the  health  of  the  bride 
and  bridegroom,  and  to  the  honor  and  glory  of  the 
house  of  Velasco!' 

"And  I  tell  you,  Deya,"  Danny  said,  "there  was 
bewitchment  on  the  tongue  of  that  old  woman! 
As  sure  as  you  were  born,  I  saw  what  she  described! 
Just  as  she  spoke  it,  so  I  saw  it,  and  just  as  she  saw 
it,  so  I  am  sure  it  will  really  be.  If  she  has  not  the 
'second-sight/  how  did  she  know  about  those  red 
slippers  and  all  that,  that  you  have  in  that  chest 
of  yours?" 


CHAPTER  XLI 
A  CHAPEL  AMONG  THE  ASPENS 

FOM  the  hill  above  the  camp,  we  can  see  the 
city  lying,  roseate,  resplendent,  in  the  warm 
rays  of  the  late  afternoon  sun.  Santa  Fe! 
City  of  Romance,  where  Spanish  Grandees  held 
their  semi-royal  court  centuries  ago.  Santa  Fe! 
City  of  the  Holy  Faith,  enshrined  in  the  heart  of 
the  great  Rockies,  where  bells  were  rung,  and  masses 
sung,  while  the  eastern  coast  of  the  continent  was 
as  yet  a  wilderness,  untrodden  by  the  white  man's 
foot. 

With  the  glass  I  looked  across  to  the  north,  fol- 
lowing the  course  of  the  trail,  out  from  camp,  down 
the  long  barren  slope  to  the  bridge  that  spans  the 
Santa  Fe  river,  and  from  there  up  through  the  city 
to  the  Fonda.  Uncle  Pliny  showed  me  where  to 
look  for  the  Chapels,  the  market-places,  the  Palacio, 
and,  out  under  the  bare  and  rugged  foot-hills,  the 
villa  of  the  Velascos. 

Uncle  Pliny  has  no  great  admiration  for  this 
ancient  city.  He  says  the  Palacio  is  altogether 
shabby,  the  Government  buildings  no  better  than 


390     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

tumble-down  soldier-barracks,  and  that  even  the 
churches  are  more  than  half  in  ruins. 

But  at  this  distance  it  is  even  as  Oriental-looking 
and  picturesque  as  I  had  hoped  and  expected  to 
find  it,  —  the  red-tiled  Spanish  roofs,  the  gayly- 
painted  walls,  purple  and  pink  and  yellow,  the  tall 
spires  of  the  poplar-trees,  the  heavily  foliaged 
orchards  and  green  corn-fields  that  crowd  in  close 
around  the  city,  and  in  the  far  distance,  the  lofty 
snow- veined  mountain  peaks. 

Truly  it  looks  like  one  of  Irving's  magical  towns  on 
the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir, — a  city  of  romance, 
indeed!  But  just  now  it  is  not  romance  that 
occupies  the  thoughts  of  its  citizens,  but  business! 
The  market-place  and  all  the  streets  are  dark  with 
swarming  crowds  of  men,  and  the  road  between 
us  and  the  city  is  sprinkled  with  groups  of  pilgrims, 
coming  out  to  talk  trade  with  our  merchants. 

The  prices  they  are  offering  are  preposterously 
high.  Inwardly  our  men  are  jubilant,  outwardly 
they  are  cool  and  non-committal. 

"We  make  no  bargains,"  they  say,  "till  we  see 
how  prices  are.  There's  no  hurry.  Our  goods 
have  kept  for  two  months  in  the  wagons,  —  they'll 
not  spoil  on  our  hands  if  we  keep  them  a  few  days 
longer!  Monday's  time  enough  to  talk  of  sales, 
and  the  prices  are  not  likely  to  be  lower!" 


CHAPEL    AMONG    ASPENS        391 

Thus  they  kept  up  their  show  of  indifference, 
going  on  about  their  work,  as  if  the  camp  were  not 
running  over  with  strangers  anxious  to  bargain  with 
them. 

When  Ernst  and  Rob  and  the  Deacon  at  last 
came  in  from  Santa  Fe,  Marienella  and  I  had  hardly 
a  word  for  them.  Vain  and  frivolous  creatures 
that  we  were,  all  our  thoughts  were  of  the  wedding 
finery  that  the  Deacon  had  been  commissioned  to 
purchase  for  us. 

First  of  all  we  saw  Rob,  with  a  quaint  little  brass- 
bound  trunk  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  was  carrying 
a  half-dozen  bulging  paper  parcels  under  his  arms. 
Marienella  gasped. 

"Oh!  he  will  surely  crush  all  our  pretty  things, 
flat  as  the  tortilla  my  mother  bakes!" 

She  ran  and  took  them  from  him,  and  hurried 
before  him  to  the  carriage.  The  Deacon  detained 
me,  to  put  in  my  hand  a  key  —  an  ancient  silver 
key. 

"It  is  for  the  little  trunk,  which  the  Senora  is 
sending  to  you.  You  see  I  had  to  go  to  her  after 
all  to  ask  what  would  be  suitable  for  your  wedding- 
gown.  I  could  not  choose!  And  she  would  not 
permit  it  that  you  should  wear,  for  a  wedding-dress, 
anything  that  could  be  purchased  in  the  shops  of 


392     PILGRIMS    OF    THE      PLAINS 

Santa  Fe.  Naught  would  do  but  that  you  must 
wear  even  the  same  gown  that  had  been  hers  when 
she  was  a  bride  —  and  her  mother  wore  it  also,  I 
think  she  said.  Well,  you  will  find  it  all  in  the 
letter,  —  in  the  trunk.  Yes,  it  is  right  for  you  to 
accept  the  gift;  she  was  so  happy  in  bestowing  it 
upon  you!" 

I  hardly  waited  for  the  dear  Deacon  to  tell  me 
this  much,  and  I  forgot  to  thank  him  for  the  kindness 
he  had  shown,  and  for  the  trouble  he  had  taken  for 
me.  I  ran  to  the  carriage,  and  tried  to  fit  the  key 
in  the  lock;  it  would  not  turn  for  me,  but  when 
Anna  touched  it,  the  hasp  flew  open  at  once. 

When  the  lid  of  the  trunk  was  raised,  all  we  saw 
was  a  roll  of  old  blue  linen,  with  a  note  pinned 
to  it,  a  note  addressed  to  me.  I  read  it  while 
Anna  was  untying  the  strings  of  the  neat  little 
bundle. 

In  flowery  Spanish  phrases,  overfull  of  compli- 
ment, the  Senora  begged  me  to  accept  the  gift 
which  "the  Senor  Gentry"  was  to  bring. 

"This  was  my  wedding  gown,  —  and  my  mother's 
also.  When  my  mother  wore  it, —  it  was  in  the  Royal 
Chapel  at  Madrid  that  she  was  married,  —  the 
young  Prince  Ferdinand  complimented  her  on  the 
beauty  of  her  attire !  And  afterward,  in  the  evening, 
he  danced  with  her,  and  it  was  this  gown  that  she 


CHAPEL    AMONG    ASPENS        393 

wore!  So  it  has  been  kept  as  a  treasure  most 
precious.  I  have  sons,  but  no  daughter,  except  as 
I  have  taken  thee  to  my  heart.  And  thou  wilt  wear 
the  dress,  to  give  me  pleasure,  and  keep  it,  that 
thy  daughter  may  wear  it  after  thee.  The  pearls, 
also,  go  with  the  dress.  May  they  bring  thee  good 
fortune!"  Jjp^TOtt  i 

I  stood  there,  lost  in  dreaming!  I  was  startled 
when  Anna  spoke  to  me.  I  put  the  Senora's  letter 
inside  my  bodice,  and  knelt  by  Anna's  side,  to  see 
and  touch  the  wonderful  gown,  —  the  sweetest 
that  maiden  ever  wore,  —  a  plain  slip  of  silk,  and 
an  overdress  of  muslin  and  lace,  but  the  muslin  was 
priceless  stuff,  sheer  and  delicate  as  gossamer,  and 
the  lace  of  the  veil  and  flounces  was  a  fairy  fabric, 
such  as  Cinderella's  godmother  might  have  evoked 
from  nothingness  by  the  waving  of  her  wand!  I 
had  never  dreamed  that  there  could  be  such  airy 
stuff  woven  by  human  hands,  so  rich,  so  exquisitely 
fine,  so  altogether  lovely.  We  touched  it  as  if  it 
were  frost-work  that  would  melt  under  the  warmth 
of  our  fingers! 

As  we  folded  it  and  laid  it  away  again  in  the 
trunk,  we  came  upon  a  little  white  velvet  handker- 
chief bag,  and  in  this  were  the  jewels  of  which  the 
Senora  had  spoken.  There  was  a  necklet  of  big 
single  pearls,  and  a  long,  slender,  twisted  rope  of 


394     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

seed  pearls,  for  a  girdle.  They  lay  in  my  hands, 
gleaming,  glistening,  like  tiny  globes  of  dawn-tinted 
snow;  and  they  clung  caressingly  to  my  palm,  and 
to  my  cheek  when  I  laid  my  face  against  them,  as 
if  they  were  beseeching  me  to  wear  them  —  and 
keep  them. 

Marienella's  dress  pleased  her  wonderfully.  It 
is  made  in  the  latest  style — eight  yards  around  the 
hem,  and  flounced  to  the  waist,  and  there  is  a  wreath 
of  pink  rosebuds  festooned  over  the  "bertha,"  and 
there  is  a  veil  to  go  with  it  —  a  real  Spanish  lace 
mantilla ! 

Marienella,  when  she  saw  it,  dropped  upon  the 
floor,  and  laughed  and  cried. 

"Oh,  it  is  too  beautiful!  What  will  my  mother 
say,  when  she  see  these  so  beautiful  clothes?  But 
the  dress  —  the  veil  —  it  is  not  of  these  I  think  most! 
It  is  of  the  goodness  of  everybody  that  I  think  — 
of  you,  my  mistress,  and  of  my  Rob!  He  so  splen- 
did, so  big,  so  strong !  Yet  he  is  of  a  kindness  to 
me,  such  as  I  have  never  seen  in  any  one!  That 
make  me  to  adore  him,  always!" 

Marienella  is  cuddled  down  beside  me  as  I  write. 
The  beads  of  her  rosary  are  slipping,  slowly,  and 
more  slowly,  through  her  fingers.  And  with  each 
bead,  not  one  prayer,  but  two  prayers,  from  two 
happy  hearts,  go  up  to  our  Father  in  heaven. 


CHAPEL    AMONG    ASPENS        395 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  night  when  Marienella 
wakened  me,  and  whispered,  "What  you  think  it 
is  the  men  are  doing?  Hear  you  not?  The  sound 
of  chopping  up  on  the  hill?  Why  they  be  working 
at  night?  I  not  know  why  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes. 
I  thinking  about  the  things  in  that  little  trunk, 
I  guess.  Nothing  happen  to  them  —  no  of  course. 
But,  I  think  I  like  to  see  them  —  if  maybe  I  not 
put  them  away  neat  like  I  should.  If  the  Senorita 
give  me  the  key,  I  will  look,  and  be  satisfy." 

I  took  the  key  from  the  ribbon  around  my  neck 
and  gave  it  to  her,  and  watched  her,  drowsily, 
as  she  knelt  by  the  trunk,  and  counted  over  all 
the  articles  it  contained.  As  she  closed  the  lid 
I  thought  she  repeated  a  prayer  —  but  it  was  no 
prayer,  it  was  a  "charm- word,"  "to  say  for  the 
good-luck." 

"My  grandmother,  she  tell  that  charm-word  to 
me.  I  not  say  it  very  much.  It  wear  out  if  you 
use  it  often !  Only  I  think  this  best  time  of  all  to 
say  it!  Whether  it  be  good,  I  know  not  but  I  say 
'How  can  it  do  harm?'  I  will  say  my  beads  over 
again  two  times,  and  that  make  it  good!" 

She  told  her  beads  over  again,  as  she  had  said,  — 
and  in  the  very  next  moment  was  asleep.  But  I 
lay  there  awake,  wondering  why  the  men  should  be 
working  at  night.  Then  I  heard  Danny's  voice, 


396     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

calling  out  directions  to  someone.  If  Danny  were 
concerned  in  it,  there  was  no  use  trying  to  guess 
what  was  in  progress.  I  smiled  to  myself  —  and 
next  I  knew,  I  was  lost  in  dreaming.  I  thought  I 
had  wandered  into  the  garden  of  the  Senora  de 
Velasco,  —  and  there  was  someone  near  me,  playing 
on  a  lute,  and  singing,  —  and  the  song  was  the 
Song  of  Nourmahal  — 

"There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  told, 

When  two  that  are  linked  in  one  heavenly  tie, 
With  heart  never  changing,  and  brow  never  cold, 

Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they  die! 
One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred  is  worth 

Whole  ages  of  heartless  and  wandering  bliss, 
And  oh,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 

It  is  this!    It  is  this!" 

I  saw  the  singer  —  and  it  was  the  young  Capitan, 
Paost  de  Brys!  And  suddenly  there  was  a  cry, 
and  the  garden  was  crowded!  Crowded  with  all 
those  whom  I  had  ever  known  —  Cousin  Elinor  was 
there,  and  Salathiel  Deming,  and  all  the  Hazard 
girls,  —  and  in  and  out  through  the  crowd  I  was 
hurrying  fast,  looking  for  someone,  —  and  I  could 
not  think  who  it  was  I  was  looking  for 

It  was  morning,  and  Marienella  was  shaking  me 
gently  to  see  if  I  was  awake. 

"I  thought  you  like  to  know.     The  Senor  Breunner 


CHAPEL    AMONG    ASPENS         397 

with  the  Senorita's  brother  is  again  called  to  Santa 
Fe,  —  yes,  right  at  once  they  go !  A  man  come 
with  message.  In  Santa  Fe  there  are  yet  more 
papers  to  be  signed,  for  the  Notary.  Rob,  he  say 
that.  The  Seiior  de  Velasco  he  send  that  word 
for  the  Seiior  Breunner  and  the  Senorita's  brother, 
and  they  not  return  till  time  for  the  wedding  late 
this  afternoon.  And  they  and  the  guests,  and  the 
Padre,  they  will  all  come  together.  The  Senor 
Breunner  ask  me  if  you  awake:  tell  me  not  disturb 
you,  —  only  if  you  not  be  asleep,  I  tell  you  he  be 
waiting  down  at  turn  of  the  road." 

She  was  helping  me  on  with  my  slippers  and  my 
fresh  morning  gown.  I  tied  the  ribbons  as  I  jumped 
down  from  the  carriage,  and  never  waited  for  my 
hat!  My  feet  were  shod  with  wings!  I  did  not  go 
around  by  the  road.  I  took  the  shortest  way,  down 
over  the  rocks,  almost  straight  from  the  skies  — 
right  into  Ernst's  arms! 

We  stood  there  at  the  edge  of  the  high  cliff,  high 
above  the  valley.  The  sky  was  dappled  over  with 
flecks  of  cloud,  gray  and  mauve  and  violet  and  rosy 
pink.  There  was  no  sun,  as  yet.  Near  at  hand, 
between  us  and  the  east,  towered  two  great  hills, 
clothed  thick  with  verdure.  The  cleft  between 
them  was  a-dazzle  with  a  glittering,  golden  veil  of 
thin  mist  —  and  then  the  veil  was  swept  aside  to 


398     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

let  the  red  sun,  in  his  splendor,  through!  The 
twitter  of  innumerable  sleepy  bird-voices  changed 
in  that  instant  to  a  rapturous  burst  of  melody; 
linnet  and  thrush  and  lark  poured  out  their  hearts 
in  praises  to  the  morn,  as  if  they  had  never  before 
beheld  the  miracle  of  dawn  and  sunrise! 

John  was  calling  us.  He  would  only  stand,  and 
beckon  us  to  come  where  he  was,  and  when  we  had 
obeyed  his  summons,  he  showed  us,  around  at  the 
west  side  of  the  camp,  a  smooth  grassy  spot  set 
about  with  a  little  grove  of  the  quivering  aspen. 
And  here  we  saw  what  Danny  and  his  friends  had 
been  working  at,  through  the  night.  They  had 
built  a  little  woodland  chapel  of  leafy  pines,  and 
there  was  a  white-draped  altar,  banked  with  the 
tall  spikes  of  the  snowy  Yucca-bells.  There  was 
incense  in  the  air,  the  spicy  breath  of  pine  and  cedar; 
the  soft  sighing  of  the  quivering  aspens  was  like  a 
whispered  prayer;  and  above  and  beyond,  reaching 
high  up  into  the  heavens,  were  the  everlasting  hills 
of  God.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  —  the  morning 
of  our  wedding-day. 

There  were  no  words  that  we  could  say,  no  words 
that  we  needed  to  say.  Ernst  drew  me  to  him,  and 
in  his  eyes,  —  his  clear  blue  eyes,  —  I  read  the  vow 
whereby  he  gave  his  heart,  his  soul,  into  my  keeping, 
forever,  and  forever!  And  in  my  heart  I  asked  my 


CHAPEL    AMONG    ASPENS 


399 


Father  that  he  would  make  me  worthy,  —  that  He 
would  bless  and  keep  us  both. 


Anna  and  I  have  spent  most  of  the  day  out  on 
the  hills.  I  have  my  book,  but  it  is  not  my  Journal 
that  I  am  thinking  of.  There  is  a  song  in  my  heart, 
and  on  my  lips,  a  song  that  seems  to  belong  alto- 
gether to  Ernst  —  "Du,  du,  liegst  mir  im  Hertzen!" 


m 


"Thou,  thou,  reign'st  in  this  bosom. 
There,  there,  hast  thou  thy  throne. 
Thou,  thou,  know'st  that  I  love  thee. 
Am  I  not  fondly  thine  own? 
Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes! 
Am  I  not  fondly  thine  own? 

Then,  then,  e'en  as  I  love  thee, 

Say,  say,  wilt  thou  love  me? 

Thoughts,  thoughts,  tender  and  true,  love, 

Say  wilt  thou  cherish  for  me? 

Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes, 

Say  wilt  thou  cherish  for  me?'* 

My  head  was  against  Anna's  knee,  —  when  she 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  drew  me  up  beside  her. 
She  pointed  down  the  long  slope  to  the  road  that 


400     PILGRIMS    OF    THE    PLAINS 

leads  out  from  the  city.  A  cloud  of  white  dust! 
A  gay  cavalcade  in  the  midst  of  it !  A  dozen  coaches 
—  the  foremost  one  like  a  royal  equipage,  all  scarlet 
and  gold,  blazing  bright  in  the  sun's  rays.  They 
drew  out  to  one  side  to  let  two  eager  horsemen  by. 
We  did  not  need  to  try  to  guess  who  those  riders 
were,  —  we  knew!  Their  eyes  caught  the  flutter 
of  Anna's  blue  veil  against  the  dark  background  of 
the  cliff.  They  tossed  their  caps  in  joyous  saluta- 
tion, and  put  their  horses  to  the  utmost  speed.  It 
was  my  brother,  —  and  Ernst  —  my  Ernst. 


STORIES    OF    RARE    CHARM    BY 

GENE  STRATTQN-PORTER 

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THE  HARVESTER 


Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is 
a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  who  draws 
his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in 
it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man,  whh 
his  sure  grip  on  life,  his  superb  optimism, 
and  his  almost  miraculous  knowledge  of 
nature  cecrets,  it  would  be  notable.  But 
when  the  Girl  conies  to  his  "Medicine 
Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  sound, 
healthy,  large  outdoor  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has 
come  to  him —  there  begins  a  romance, 
troubled  and  interrupted,  yet  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES.        Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his  love- 
story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

Illustrated  by  Wladysluw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  lovable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 

It  is  an  inspiring  story  of  a  life  worth  while  and  the  rich  beauties 
of  the  out-of-doors  are  strewn  through  all  its  pages. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp.    Design  and  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour. 

The  scene  of  this  charming,  idyllic  love  story  is  laid  in  Central 
Indiana.  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self- 
sacrificing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and 
the  love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature,  and  its  pathos 
and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

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JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES   OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

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THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME   PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 


The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
foot-prints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 


THE 


of  the  lonesome  pine." 
LITTLE    SHEPHERD    OF    KINGDOM 


COME 


Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT   OF  THE    CUMBERLAND. 
Illustrated    by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  f er-Sartain"  and  othei 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

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MYRTLE    REED'S   NOVELS 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of 
New  England  where  bygone  romance  finds  a 
modern  parallel.  The  story  centers  round 
the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper — and  it  is  one  of  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  and  quaintest  of  old  fash- 
ioned love  stories,  *  *  *  a  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of 
delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness,  of  delightful 
humor  and  spontaniety. 


A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

Miss  Myrtle  Reed  may  always  be  depended  upon  to  write  a  story 
in  which  poetry,  charm,  tenderness  and  humor  are  combined  into  a 
clever  and  entertaining  book.  Her  characters  are  delightful  and  she 
always  displays  a  quaint  humor  of  expression  and  a  quiet  feeling  of 
pathos  which  give  a  touch  of  active  realism  to  all  her  writings.  In 
*'A  Spinner  in  the  Sun"  she  tells  an  old-fashioned  love  story,  of  a 
veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude  and  whose  features  her  neighbors 
have  never  seen.  There  is  a  mystery  at  the  heart  of  the  book  that 
throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance. 

THE    MASTER'S    VIOLIN, 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  A  picturesque,  old  Ger- 
man virtuoso  is  the  reverent  possessor  of  a  genuine  "Cremona."  He 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who  proves  to  have 
an  aptitude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  The  youth 
has  led  the  happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern,  well-to-do  young  Amer- 
ican and  he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past,  express  the  love,  the  passion 
and  the  tragedies  of  life  and  all  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master 
who  has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into  his  life— a 
beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that  his  aunt  had  taken  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns 
the  lessons  that  life  has  to  give — and  his  soul  awakes. 

Founded  on  a  fact  that  all  artists  realize. 

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GROSSET&  DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED    NOVELS 

THE   KIND    THAT   ARE   MAKING   THEATRICAL    HISTORY 
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WITHIN  THE  LAW.     By  Bayard  Veiller  &  Marvin  Dana. 
Illustrated  by  Wm.  Charles  Cooke.  . 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  immensely  successful  play  which  ra& 
for  two  years  in  New  York  and  Chicago. 

The  plot  of  this  powerful  novel  is  of  a  young  woman's  revenge 
directed  against  her  employer  who  allowed  her  to  be  sent  to  prison 
for  three  years  on  a  charge  of  theft,  of  which  she  was  innocent. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  MARY.     By  Robert  Carlton  Brown. 

illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

This  is  a  narrative  of  a  young  and  innocent  country  girl  who  is 
suddenly  thrown  into  the  very  heart  of  New  York,  "the  land  of  her 
dreams, '  where  she  is  exposed  to  all  sorts  of  temptations  and  dangers. 

The  story  of  Mary  is  being  told  in  moving  pictures  and  played  in 
theatres  all  ovei  the  world. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM.      By  David  Belasco. 
illustrated  by  John  Rae,  I 

This  \s  a  novelization  of  the  popular  play  in  which  David  Wai^ 
field,  as  Old  Peter  Grimm,  scored  such  a  remarkable  success. 

The  story  is  spectacular   and  extremely   pathetic  but  withal, 
powerful,  both  as  a  book  and  as  a  play. 
THE  GARDEN  OF  ALL  ATI.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

This  novel  is  an  intense,  glowing  epic  of  the  great 'desert,  sunlit 
barbaric,  with  its  marvelous  atmosphere  of  vastness  and  loneliness. 

It  is  a  book  of  rapturous  beauty,  vivid  in  word  painting.    The  play 
has  been  staged  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 
BEN _HTm    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace. 

The  whole  world  has  placed  this  famous  Religious-Historical  Ro* 
•  mance  on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  tune 
has  reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination.  A  tre- 
mendous dramatic  success. 

BOUGHT  AfrD  PAID  FOR.     By  George  Broadharst  and  Arthtu 
Hornbiow.          Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  stupendous  arraignment  of  modern  marriage  which  has  created 
an  interest  on  the  stage  that  is  almost  unparalleled.  The  scenes  are  laid 
in  New  York,  and  deal  with  conditions  among  both  the  rich  and  poor. 

The  interest  of  the  story  turns  on  the  day-by-day  developments 
which  show  the  young  wife  the  price  she  has  paid. 

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